My hips rocked shamelessly, trying to find friction, trying to get relief from the clawing ache between my thighs.
But Perish seemed content to stay just where he was, his tongue flicking, circling, his teeth grazing, biting, his hands squeezing, fingers rolling.
I felt worshipped.
Precious.
Desperate.
My breath felt caught just beneath my ribs. My skin was too hot, too tight, too sensitive.
But he just kept licking, sucking.
His hands, though, started to slide, to tease over my ribs, my hips, the bare sides of my thighs since my skirt had hiked up around my waist when he’d lifted me up and dropped me down.
It was a barely-there brush, fingertips skimming, and my focus was split between his hands and his mouth.
But then his hands grabbed my knees, pulling them up, butterflying them open on the countertop.
And, yes, God, yes.
“Please,” I whimpered, too far gone to care how shameless I was being, how desperate I sounded.
I wanted this.
I wanted more.
I wanted him.
I wanted everything.
“Please,” I whimpered again, hips writhing.
A rumble moved through Perish. We were close enough for me to feel it vibrate through me as his forehead pressed to my skin, his face nuzzled between my breasts as he exhaled hard.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
There was one moment where my blood froze, where I thought he might have come to his senses and was going to pull away.
But then he was sliding down.
His hand moved between us, grabbing my panties, pulling until they ripped.
My dress, my panties, my desire—
I was in pieces.
And I never wanted to be whole again.
Perish’s arms slid under my legs, pulling them over his shoulders as he buried himself at the juncture of my thighs.
My breath was too fast, too shallow.
My head felt light.
Then his gaze cut up to mine.
Somehow, I saw my own desperate need reflected there.
