“A bad idea.”
She stares at me, lips plump and glistening, pupils dilated, breath coming fast, eyelids heavy.
I stare back, probably looking as desperate and wild and hungry as my heart feels.
And then we’re kissing again.
I can’t kiss her deep enough. Hard enough. Close enough.
And I need to not want to so badly.
But it’s Goldie.
How can anyonenotwant Goldie?
“Tell me to stop,” I say against her lips.
“You tell me to stop,” she gasps back.
“I’m stopping.”
“Okay.”
I’m not stopping.
I’m sliding down her body, licking her neck, biting her collarbone, sucking on her nipples while she gasps and grips my hair tight and clenches one leg around my hips.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she wheezes.
“I know.”
“But it’s—we’re just—we’re good at this.”
“You’re fucking good at this.”
“You’re—oh my god, Fletcher.”
Mental note: she likes it when I lick her belly button.
And the skin beneath her belly button.
And the noise she makes when I work my way lower, gently pushing her legs farther apart, biting her inner thigh, scratching my beard over the delicate skin there, repeating on the other side, and then giving in to my desperate need to feast on her pretty pussy?—
Yeah.
Yeah, we both like this.
She’s fucking delicious. And she’s not holding back her reactions, gasping my name, grabbing me by the hair and moving my head where she wants it, her hips pumping against my mouth while I lick and suck and tease her clit, her thighs quivering as she gets closer and closer and closer to?—
“Oh god, yes yes yes, Fletcher, YES.”
Fuck me.
I’m coming in my pants while I taste her orgasm.
Of bloody course I am.
She’s fucking hot, and I was already primed.
