My head falls back, eyes fixed on the stars above, every flick of his tongue sketching new ones behind my eyelids when they close.
But then?—
He stops.
Air punches from my lungs. My hips buck uselessly, searching for the friction he stole.
Dazed, I blink down at him, seconds from begging.
He grins. Dark. Not devilish.
Demonic.
“Do you want to come, Rorie?” he asks, voice wicked. He knows the answer. He wants to hear me say it.
The tension inside me is unbearable, tight and hot and needy in a way that makes pride feel like a luxury I can’t afford.
I try to hold out. Just a second longer. To keep a shred of control. But then he licks his lips, tasting me and I snap.
“Please,” I whisper.
His brows lift. “Say it again. Mean it.”
Goddamn this man.
“Please, Nolan. I need it. I needyou.”
That’s all it takes.
A deep, primal growl erupts from his chest and then his mouth is on me again, tongue stroking and devastating, and his fingers—God, his fingers—slide back inside me, smooth and sure.
There’s no hesitation. No mercy.
He fucks me with his mouth and his hand like it’s his sole purpose in life to pull these sounds out of me, to find every edge and push me over it.
“Fuck,” I gasp, throwing my head back, eyes opening and closing as he works me open with his mouth, his tongue, that fuckingtalent.
My hips rock against him, helpless, frantic, desperate. And when I come it’s not quiet. It’s not sweet.
It’s a fucking collapse.
My legs shake. My lungs forget how to breathe. My voice breaks on his name.
And as the pleasure crashes through me as a tidal wave, I swear—for one stupid, terrifying, beautiful second—I feel something deeper pull tight in my chest.
With deliberate ease, he crawls out of the pool, water trailing down every inch of him. His hands plant on either side of me, his body following until he settles between my legs, dripping wet and devastatingly handsome. His eyes are lit with mischief, and shadowed with heat as he looks down at me like I’m the night sky itself. Like I’m something holy.
But what I give him is nothing short of sinful.
I cup his erection and he groans—loud,feral—before his lips latch onto me. He doesn’t ease in. He consumes. Tongue hammering, lips sucking.
“Nolan,” I whisper, voice barely mine. “I want you.”
Eyes wild, chest heaving, he says, “You have me.”
“No.” I tighten my grip, dragging my thumb along the ridge that makes my pulse skip. “I mean I want you. Inside me.”
His jaw clenches. For a second, I think he’s going to end all of this right here and now. But instead, he hisses a curse through his teeth and drops his forehead to my shoulder.
