Slow at first. Soft. A question.
He answers.
His hands slide into my hair, fisting gently, tilting my head so he can take the kiss deeper. His tongue strokes mine slowly, thoroughly, claiming. I moan into his mouth. He groans in response, low and rough.
The kiss turns hungry.
He pulls me onto his lap, my thighs straddling his hips. I feel him, hard and thick, pressing against me through his jeans. I grind down instinctively. He growls, hands sliding under the flannel, palms hot on my bare skin.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “You’re killing me.”
I nip his bottom lip. “I’m not trying to. I want you to take what you want.”
He flips us effortlessly, so I’m on my back on the couch, him looming over me. His mouth crashes back to mine, devouring. His hands roam under the shirt, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard peaks. I arch into his touch, whimpering.
He breaks the kiss, trails his mouth down my throat, teeth grazing my collarbone. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “Been dying to taste you since the first night.”
He pushes the flannel up, kisses my stomach, my ribs, then takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. I cry out, fingers threading through his hair. He switches to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to sting, tongue soothing the ache.
I’m already soaked. I can feel it between my thighs, the damp heat of my panties.
He knows.
One hand slides down my stomach and cups me over the lace panties that are useless now.
“Jesus,” he groans when his fingers find how wet I am. “All this for me?”
“Always for you,” I gasp.
He rubs slow circles over my clit through the fabric. I whimper, hips lifting into his touch.
“Take them off,” I beg.
He drags them down my legs in one long pull, tossing them somewhere across the room. Then he spreads my thighs wide, settles between them, and looks at me.
I’m open, exposed, and dripping.
His eyes darken. “Fucking perfect.”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on me.
No warning. No gentle kisses. He licks me in one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit, groaning like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. I cry out, hands flying to his hair, gripping hard.
He doesn’t let up.
He eats me like a man possessed. His tongue flat and broad, then pointed and flicking, circling my clit with perfect pressure. Two thick fingers push inside me, curling up to hit that spot that makes my vision go black.
“Aaron, fuck, oh god—”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shocks through my whole body. Then he sucks my clit into his mouth, hard and relentless, and I shatter apart.
The orgasm hits like a freight train. My thighs clamp around his head, back arching so hard I nearly lift off the couch. I scream his name, wave after wave crashing through me until I’m shaking, boneless, gasping.
He doesn’t stop until I’m whimpering from overstimulation.
When he finally lifts his head, his chin is glistening, his lips swollen, his eyes wild.
I grab him by the hair and drag him up to me, kissing him deep, tasting myself on his tongue. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.
