She nods, breathless, and I lift it over her head in one smooth motion.
Bare beneath. Soft curves and warm skin, all mine.
The urge to mark her surges so hard I have to grip the counter edge behind her for control. My knuckles go white, but I force myself still. Force myself just to look. To memorize every beautiful, soft inch of her.
"You're staring," she says, and there's vulnerability in her voice now. Her hands move to cover herself.
"Don't." I catch her wrists gently, pulling them away. "I can't help it. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
Before she can doubt, I capture her mouth again. My hands slide up her sides deliberately slow, cataloging every curve, every soft place. When I finally cup her tits, she gasps into my mouth. They’re the perfect, soft weight. Her nipples harden against my palms.
I break the kiss and trail down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Taking my time. Tasting her skin. Learning what makes her breathing change. When I reach her tits again, I pause and look up.
Her eyes are dark, pupils wide. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Watching me. Waiting.
I lower my mouth to her nipple and circle it with my tongue, slow and deliberate. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. I close my lips around the peak and suck, and her back arches toward me. The taste of her skin floods my senses, salt and vanilla and something darker underneath that makes my jaw ache.
I use my teeth with gentle pressure, then sharper when she gasps my name. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling, and the sting makes me groan against her skin. I switch to her other tit,giving it the same attention. Slow. Thorough. Learning what she likes. She trembles in my arms. When I suck, she moans my name. Every sound she makes gets cataloged, stored away.
My hands map her tits and curves while my mouth works. The soft roundness of her stomach. The fullness of her hips. The strength in her thick thighs where they grip my waist. She's all softness and give, where I'm hard edges and sharp angles. The contrast makes primal hunger roar through me.
Mine.
I kiss her soft stomach, and her muscles jump under my mouth. My hands slide to her thighs, spreading them wider, and she understands what I'm asking. What I need.
"You don't have to—" she says.
"I want to." I look up at her, making sure she sees the truth in my eyes. "I need to taste you again. Need to watch you come apart for me. Will you let me?"
She nods, and the trust in that gesture makes certainty anchor in my ribs.
I drop to my knees between her spread thighs. The sight of her hits me like a punch, pink, glistening, swollen for me. She’s so wet she’s dripping, and the raw evidence that I did this to her makes something feral uncage in my chest.
I don’t tease this time. I spread her wider with my thumbs, open her up completely, and drag my tongue through her pussy in one long and slow motion from slit to clit. She jerks, a broken sound tearing out of her, and I do it again, harder, licking up every drop like I’ll die if I miss one.
“Brooks—” It’s half sob, half prayer.
I slide two thick fingers into her without warning. She’s so wet they sink to the knuckle on the first push. She clenches hard, fluttering around me, and I curl them instantly, stroking that spot I mapped last night until her hips start rolling helplessly.My mouth seals over her clit, sucking in the exact pressure she needs while my tongue flicks fast and relentlessly.
Christ, she tastes like sin. Sweet, salty, addictive. I can’t get enough. I tongue-fuck her alongside my fingers, pumping faster, curling harder, feeling her get impossibly wetter, the slick sounds filthy in the quiet kitchen. My cock is a steel bar in my jeans, grinding against the zipper, but the ache only drives me to give her more.
Her thighs start shaking against my shoulders. I wedge them wider, hook one leg over my back so she’s split open, nothing hidden. I add a third finger, stretching her, and she cries out sharp and desperate. Her hands fist in my hair, yanking hard enough that my scalp burns. I growl against her clit, letting the vibration wreck her.
“Come on my tongue, Elorie. Let me feel it.”
I suck her clit hard, flicking it in quick, merciless strokes while my fingers hammer that spot inside her. She breaks. Her back arches, thighs clamping around my head as she comes with a raw, hoarse cry. Her pussy spasms around my fingers in long, milking pulses, flooding my mouth, and I keep licking, keep stroking, drawing it out until she’s shaking with aftershocks and gasping my name like it’s the only word she knows.
Only then do I ease off, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to her trembling thighs and her swollen pussy, tasting the fresh rush of her orgasm. When I finally stand, my chin is wet with her, lips swollen, chest heaving.
She’s wrecked, eyes glassy, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. I slide my arms under her and lift her off the counter like she’s made of air. She wraps her limp arms around my neck and burrows into me as I carry her to the couch.
I sit with her straddling my lap, her damp heat pressed against the ridge of my cock still trapped in denim. She whimpers at the contact and hides her face in my neck.
I band my arms around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other cradling her head.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask, my voice rough as gravel.
She makes a soft, incoherent sound and nods against my throat.
