I swallow hard, my fingers loosening their grip on the cushions as I try to breathe and focus on the way his touch feels, on the way he’s looking at me like he’s a starving man and I’m his next meal.
“Perfect,” he whispers. Grins. “You’re not going to be able to walk.”
Oh . . .
A shaky laugh escapes me, but it’s cut short as his lips brush against my inner thigh.
It’s soft at first—deliberate—like he’s savoring every moment. My head tips back, and I release a gasp, hands slipping from the cushions to thread through his hair.
Harris’s movements are slow and unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world to drive me absolutely insane.
He licks the sensitive skin on my inner thigh. Kisses it.
His mouth presses a series of soft, maddeningly gentle kisses up my thigh, each one sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. When his lips finally touch where I want him most, I can’t help the broken sound that escapes my throat, fingers still running through his hair.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause to tease.
I lift my head to look at him, hands clutching at his hair.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, my voice trembling as my body tightens in response to him.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice low and commanding, the vibrations of it sending shivers through me.
My gaze drops to meet his, and the sight of him between my legs, his dark eyes burning with desire.
He sucks.
Sucks more, as if his life depends on it. As if it’s his job.
I watch, eyes glassing over. Face flushed.
Legs spread.
I am wanton, and it feels incredible.
“Yes . . .”
The pressure inside me coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, and I shatter completely, my body trembling. He doesn’t stop, drawingout every last ounce of my release, his hands firm and grounding on my skin.
Aftershocks ripple through me, leaving me utterly spent and weightless.
He doesn’t move right away, his lips brushing kisses against my inner thigh.
“You’re so sexy.” Harris slides his hands gently up my thighs, caressing them—going from teasing and confident to soft and reverent.
“I’m so limp right now.” I nervously giggle.
“I’m not.”
Not sure what to say to that.
I stare at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, trying to appear nonchalant while my brain scrambles to process the situation. Is this a date?
I shift slightly, feeling the absence of my panties like a glaring neon sign over my head. Wherearethey?
The floor?
The couch?
