His tongue moves in tight, devastating patterns. No hesitation. Just heat and pressure and maddening control.
I gasp, twist under him, but he doesn't let me go anywhere. One arm braces across my hips, the other strokes lazy heat along my thigh like he’s coaxing my body to bloom.
When he groans, it’s low and hungry. Like helikeshow desperate I’m getting.
"You taste like sin," he rasps. "Like you’ve been waiting for me to do this since the day we met."
Then he flicks his tongue just right, and I go still, every muscle wound tight.
He feels it. Smiles against me. “There. That’s your spot.”
And then his finger slides inside me. Just one at first, slow and slick, his knuckle grazing that same spot from the inside.
I break.
My back lifts off the bed, a sound I’ve never heard myself make catches in my throat.
"More," I gasp, almost frantic.
He gives it to me. Another finger, curling slow and deep. His mouth never stops. He works me with obscene skill, like he’s memorizing how I fall apart and already planning to do it again.
My climax hits hard, sudden and ragged. My whole body locks up, thighs clamping, breath stolen. I cry out his name like it’s the only thing I know.
But he doesn’t stop.
Hedraws it out, keeps working me through the waves until I’m a shaking mess, slick and open and boneless beneath him.
When he finally lifts his head, his beard is wet with me, his eyes black with satisfaction.
He leans over, presses his palm to my stomach, grounding me. Watching me.
“Fuck,” he says, voice wrecked. “Look at you.”
I blink at him, dazed.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful like this,” he murmurs, dragging the back of his hand down my thigh. “All soft and ruined. That was just the beginning, sweetheart.”
He kisses me then, deep and hungry, and I taste myself on his tongue.
“You ready for more?” he asks against my lips.
I nod, breathless.
“Good,” he says. “Because I want all of you.”
He shifts, rising over me. The bed creaks under his weight. My body’s still trembling, aftershocks making my muscles flutter. He watches my face, unreadable except for the heat in his eyes. Then his hand moves between us, knuckles brushing my still-sensitive inner thigh. I flinch, but not from fear.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and patient. “Relax.”
He guides himself to my entrance, teasing me with slow presses and shallow retreats. My breath catches each time. My hips lift, desperate.
“Kane,” I whisper, “please. I want you inside me.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re not shy, are you?”
“Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
Something sharp and dark flashes in his eyes. “Like I’m about to ruin you for anyone else?”
