For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing, the air between us charged with something I can’t put into words. My hands stay where they are, waiting, giving her the choice to decide what happens next.
Chapter 11
Lucy
Is he about to do what I think he’s going to do?
’Cause that would be awesome.
I haven’t had a guy go down on me in forever—can’t remember the last time.
The thought sends a rush of heat through me, breath catching in my throat as his hands slide a little higher, his thumbs brushing over the inseam of my leggings. He’s watching me so intently, his dark eyes searching mine like he’s waiting for permission.
I should say something—maybe crack a joke to break the tension—but the words stick in my throat.
Instead, my hands tighten on the couch cushions, my heart pounding so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
“Lucy,” he says, the needy sound of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
“Mmm?” I manage to reply, my voice shaky despite my best efforts to sound composed.
“I’m about to eat you out so hard you’re going to forget every guy who came before me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, full of confidence, and utterly devastating.
Oh.
Oh . . .
That’s all I can manage.
His hands slide up my legs, steady and deliberate, pausing at the waistband of my leggings. He raises an eyebrow, giving me one last moment to stop him, but I don’t move—I can’t.
I nod, a quick, jerky movement that’s all the permission he needs.
His fingers hook into the fabric, and with a practiced ease, he starts to tug them down, his touch grazing my skin as he goes. The sensation sends a ripple of goose bumps up my arms, and I bite my lip, my heart thundering in my chest.
Yes . . .
I want this so bad.
I’m giddy with excitement.
So glad I shaved my legs this morning.
I release a shaky breath, leaning back into the cushions as he works the leggings off completely, then tosses them to the floor.
The room feels warmer, smaller, like it’s closing in on us, but in the best possible way. His hands slide back up my legs, lingering, exploring, like he’s mapping out every inch of me.
I watch, mesmerized, as he reaches the waistband of my baby blue lace panties, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric with a confidence that sends a shiver through me.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. “I take that as a good sign.”
“I’m not shaking,” I manage, fingers tightening on the couch cushions as his hands move, sliding the fabric aside. “You’re staring.”
He glances up, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. “Can you blame me?” Harris replies, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper. “You have the most beautiful pussy.”
Beautiful pussy . . .
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say—if there’s anything to say at all. He doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response. His focus shifts back to what he’s doing, his movements purposeful and unbearably slow.
