My fingers fist in his hair. “Don’t stop...don’t...”
He doesn’t.
And when he sucks gently, right where I need him, I shatter fast, my back arching, breath breaking, everything inside me tightening and then dissolving all at once.
He holds me through all of it, kissing me softly as the tremors fade.
“Come back to me,” he whispers against my thigh.
“I’m trying,” I breathe. “Give me a minute to locate my limbs.”
He laughs, low and warm, and climbs up my body, kissing my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, my throat.
Then he kisses my mouth.
I taste myself on him and moan into it.
His inhale is sharp. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Good,” I whisper, gently flipping him onto his back.
His surprised grunt is… glorious.
I swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. His hands slide to my thighs, gripping, pulling me closer.
“You’re trouble,” he says, breath uneven.
“Correct.” I reach for his shirt. “Sit up.”
He does, and I peel it off him, one button at a time...slow, deliberate, like unwrapping something precious. I just stare at him for a moment.
He watches me with dark, heavy eyes. “You like looking at me?”
“Do women crave chocolate during PMS?” I shove him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin. “Now shut up and brace yourself.”
He does not shut up.
Not when I kiss down his chest.
Not when I tongue the line of muscle beneath his ribs.
Not when I reach his belt.
“Annabelle…” His voice is a warning and a plea in one.
“Yes?”
“You’re gonna make me...”
“That’s the plan.”
When I take him into my mouth, he swears, loud and broken...his hips arching before he forces them still.
“Jesus, you’re…” His hand fists the sheets. “Slow down or I’m not gonna last.”
I lift my head just enough to say, playful, “Then last better.”
He groans like I’ve physically injured him.
