My voice cracks. "Wh-why?"
"Because I'm not walking out of this motel room until you're as limp as I am and have no more reservations about us." He moves his tongue to the tip of my slit, his hot breath buzzing against my skin.
My hands dive into his hair. I curl my fingers, tugging, and admit, "I hate how much I missed that mouth."
An amused promise barrels out of him. "Then let me remind you how much you need it." He drags his tongue slowly against me, sinfully circling exactly where I'm already aching.
Every flick pulls a gasp from deep in my chest. The quiver in my stomach intensifies, and every nerve I have swells with anticipation.
He murmurs against me, "And, sugar, I ain't stopping until you lose your voice crying out my name." His mouth ravages me like he's starving.
"Wyatt!" I call out against my will. My fingers tangle in his hair, gripping for dear life as I grind my trembling pussy against his face.
He groans, tightening his fingers around my hips. He flicks his tongue until I'm spent, then kisses my inner thighs.
I take ragged breaths.
He taunts, "You always sounded so goddamn sweet when you begged. Let's hear it again, sugar." His mouth latches back on my pussy, and a round of adrenaline sits ready to detonate within me.
"Wyatt! Oh God… Please."
"That's it," he coaxes, pressing his tongue so firmly to my clit, it makes my hips jerk.
"Wyatt!" I whimper, my legs shaking. My heart pounds so hard, I swear the walls echo with it.
"I've been dreaming about your taste since you stole it from me," he snaps, voice tight with hurt. He circles his tongue, pulses it, then flattens it, repeating the cycle over and over.
I fall apart under his mouth again, arching my back and clenching the thread-bare comforter.
He relentlessly flicks, mercilessly owning every drop of my pleasure.
My back bows higher, and I cry out, shattering with an all-consuming pressure so great that I squirt my arousal all over him.
"That's my fucking sugar," he praises, sticking his tongue in my hole and lapping up every ounce he can.
I moan, shaking through it, trying to catch my breath, feeling delirious.
He finally lifts his head and then crawls up my body. His mouth hovers over mine, smelling like my orgasms. "I'm not done," he warns, tone guttural, erection taunting my pussy.
I pull his face toward me, kissing him the same way as I used to, with no reservations, hate, or regret. It's just Wyatt and me, two lovers who were separated from each other for too long.
His hand slides under my back, arching me to him as he shucks his jeans. Then he's fully pressed against me, bare, thick, harder than ever before. He pushes between my thighs.
I gasp.
"Sure you can still handle me?" he teases, brushing his lips over my cheek.
My heart pounds in my throat, craving the things he can do to me. "I'm not scared," I lie.
His grin turns wicked. "There's my girl."
He drives into me in one long, deep thrust.
I choke on a moan, rocking my hips while straining to take all of him at once.
"Damn it, sugar," he barks, pushing my thigh higher, sinking deeper, then withdrawing slowly before slamming back inside.
It pulls another cry from my throat.
