"Because if you don't, I'm not going to."
I search his face and see the war happening behind his eyes in the candlelight. Want versus fear. Need versus restraint. I don't want him to stop but to keep touching me, keep looking at me like this might mean something.
"Don't stop," I whisper.
His eyes flare, pupils dilating until the brown is almost black. Then his mouth crashes into mine again, harder this time, more demanding. He lifts me easily, and my legs wrap around his waist. He carries me through the shop, his fingers digging into my hips.
The old leather couch sits against the back wall in the reading area, soft and cool when he lays me down. He follows me, his weight pressing me into the cushions, and kisses me again. This one is claiming. Possessive. His touch is everywhere: on my waist, my hair, sliding down to grip my thighs.
He leans back. Our eyes lock. His fingers find the button of my jeans. "Tell me if it's too much. If you need me to slow down or stop."
"It’s not too much," I manage.
He works the button free. The zipper follows, and he hooks his fingers into the waistband, tugging the denim down my hips. I lift my hips to help him, and the denim pools on the floor. Cool air hits my legs, and his hands run up my thighs, rough palms against soft skin. The contrast makes my lungs work harder.
"You're so soft," he says, and his voice is rough with reverence. "So responsive. I love how you react to me."
Heat floods through me from my cheeks to my pussy, but I don't look away. His touch continues, thumbs brushing the inside of my thighs, and my legs fall open without conscious thought. He hooks his fingers into my damp panties and pauses, his eyes searching mine.
I nod.
He slides them lower until I’m bare from the waist down. The cool air kisses my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in his eyes as he drinks me in, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every curve.
He moves over me, those massive shoulders eclipsing the flickering candlelight until all I see is him. His palms glide up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he spreads me wide, placing one of my legs over the back of the couch and nudging the other to the floor so I’m open, angled, perfectly displayed for him. The position leaves me deliciously exposed, my hips tilted up toward his mouth, my back arched against the cushions.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rumbles, his voice gravel and smoke.
“I will,” I say.
He starts with a single kiss to the tender skin of my inner thigh, lips warm and soft, stubble scraping just enough to make me shiver. Another kiss higher. Another. Each one slower than the last, stoking the need in my pussy until I’m squirming, silently begging.
His breath fans hot along my pussy a second before his mouth finally seals over me.
The first slow lick drags a broken moan from my throat. He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through my clit, and then he really begins. Long, deliberate strokes ofhis tongue, tasting me like he’s starved for this. He circles my entrance, teases my clit, then flattens his tongue and licks me from bottom to top in one filthy, possessive swipe that makes my hips jerk.
His hands clamp down on my thighs, pinning me exactly where he wants me as he devours. When he sucks my clit between his lips and flicks it with quick, relentless strokes, my hands fly to his hair, gripping tight. He growls in approval, the sound rumbling through my pussy, and slides one thick finger inside me.
The stretch is perfect, almost too much, and exactly enough. He curls it slowly, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes my back bow off the couch, he stays there, rubbing in tight circles while his tongue lashes my clit without mercy.
“Brooks,” I sob, the plea torn from me.
He adds a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching me open while his mouth never stops. My thighs quake in his grip; the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into me and his tongue working me over fill the shop, obscene and perfect.
Old ghosts in my head try to whisperyou’re too loud, too needy, too big, but he feels the tension and immediately pulls back, lips glistening, eyes searching mine.
“Hey,” he says softly, thumb stroking my hip. “Stay with me, sweetheart.”
The tenderness undoes me. I thread my fingers deeper into his hair and tug him back down. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Something feral flashes across his face. He dives back in like a man possessed, tongue ruthless, fingers driving deep, curling hard against that spot until pleasure coils so tight I can’t breathe. His free hand slides up my body under my sweater, cupping one heavy breast, rolling my nipple between callused fingers through my bra until I’m mindless.
“Come for me,” he growls against my clit. “Let me feel it.”
The orgasm slams into me. My entire body seizes, thighs clamping around his head as I come with a sharp cry, pulsing around his fingers, flooding his mouth. He licks me through it, softer now, drawing out every aftershock until I’m a trembling, whimpering mess.
Only then does he ease off, pressing gentle kisses to my throbbing clit, my thighs, the curve of my belly. He rises up, scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing, and settles back onto the couch with me on his lap, my damp skin against his shirt, my face buried in his neck.
His heart thunders under my cheek; his arms lock around me, one hand stroking my back in slow, soothing circles.
