Killed by anticipation.
Put it on my headstone.
"Koshin—"
"I like when you say my name." He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, breath hot against where I need him. "I like it even more when you scream it."
"I don't scr—"
His tongue slides through my folds and my hips buck off the bed.
His hands pin me down, holding me still against the mattress. "You were saying?"
"Fuck you."
"Eventually. Right now I'm busy."
Smart retort.
Really showed him.
Very dignified.
His mouth works between my legs, and I'm making sounds I'm going to be embarrassed about later—breathy, desperate, half-words that aren't even language—but I can't stop because his tongue is doing something obscene and his fingers are sliding inside me and I can't think. I can't think about anything except—
Ahh.
There.
Right there.
His tongue circles my clit and I'm already close, already shaking, and it's too fast but I don't care.
"Don't stop. Don't—fuck—don't stop—"
He doesn't stop. His mouth is relentless, his fingers curling inside me. I come with his name breaking apart in my mouth and my fingers twisted in his hair.
He keeps going.
"I can't—" My voice is wrecked. "I can't again, it's too—"
"You can." He doesn't lift his head. "You will. You're going to come for me again because you're mine and I want to feel it."
Possessive bastard. Arrogant, possessive bastard. I should argue.
His fingers thrust deeper. His tongue doesn't let up. The oversensitivity tips into pleasure, then past it, and I'm climbing again before the last orgasm has finished.
"Koshin—I—fuck—"
I come again. Harder. My heels dig into the mattress and my back arches and I'm definitely going to pass out.
The look on his face—smug and hungry and possessive—should annoy me. It doesn't. It makes me want to pull him back down and do that again.
I have problems. Many, many problems.
"One more."
"I can't—"
