He gives his length a stroke. I watch in awe, suspended in the moment.
I steady my breath. “Okay. Now I’m nervous.”
A slow, sexy grin breaks free. “Don’t be. We’re not starting with him.”
“Then what are we starting with?”
“You.”
No man has ever been this way with me.
And I love it.
“Panties off,” he orders.
There’s something about his confidence, the quiet command in it, that sets me alight. A spark I’ve never felt before.
I do as he says and slide them off.
“Spread, and let me see that pretty little pussy.”
He’s so dirty.
Butterflies flutter in my chest. I’ve never done this. Displayed myself. Taking orders and being turned on. This is totally unlike me.
But the hunger in his eyes is intoxicating.
Slowly, I open my legs.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so wet.”
His stubble grazes my thighs, the heat of his mouth at my entrance. My entire body shudders with the long lick of his tongue.
“Oh,” I whimper.
My fingers thread through his hair as the man goes to absolute town on me.
“Mmm,” he moans, the vibration sending me to another world.
He slips a finger in, and my back arches off the bed. All-consuming pleasure.
For a split second, I want to stop him. To slow it down. To hold him there until dawn and drown in it.
But I can’t.
He moves up the bed and gathers me into his arms, holding me while the aftershocks ripple through me. His mouth finds my neck, pressing tender kisses there.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
How many men have said that to me? In my industry, too many to count.
But the way he says it feels different. Like he’s not talking about how I look, but more like he sees who I am.
“Still nervous?” he asks.
I face him and brush his thick auburn hair back from his face. He’s still flushed, still warm, still very much affected. “No,” I whisper.
He shifts, settling between my thighs as he lines himself up. Then he freezes.
