“Out loud.”
“Yes.” Her voice is breathless.
I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, along her thighs. She trembles under my touch, and I feel the tension in her muscles. “Relax.”
“I can’t relax when you’re between my legs,” she gasps.
“Yes, you can.” I settle between her thighs, my hands gripping her hips. “Because you trust me. Don’t you?”
“Yes, but?—”
“No buts.” My mouth finds the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and her protests stop.
I take my time, kissing and biting my way higher, listening to every hitch in her breathing, every slight sound she makes. When I reach the edge of her underwear, I pause. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.” Her hips lift slightly, seeking contact.
“Say it anyway.” I press her hips back down firmly. “Or I’ll stop right here.”
“Damn it, Ansel. You know what I want.”
“Say it,” I command.
“I want your mouth on me.” The words rush out. “I want you to make me come. I want you to stop making me beg for it.”
“But you look so good when you beg.” I pull her underwear down slowly. “And I like hearing you say what you want.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m thorough.” I toss her underwear aside and spread her thighs wider. “There’s a difference.”
When I finally put my mouth on her, she cries out, her hands flying to my hair. I work her thoroughly, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her fingers tighten in my hair hard enough to hurt.
“Ansel! Oh, fuck!” Her hips buck against my mouth, and I hold her down, controlling her movements.
She’s getting close; her body is wound tight. I slide two fingers inside her, not stopping what I’m doing with my mouth, just adding more. The combination makes her moan.
“Come for me, Remy.” I curl my fingers, finding that spot inside her that drives her wild while my tongue maintains its rhythm.
She comes apart spectacularly, screaming my name, her entire body convulsing. I don’t let up, drawing it out until tears leak from the corners of her eyes and she’s begging me to stop. Only then do I ease back, moving up her body with satisfaction.
She reaches for me, trying to pull me down to touch me, but I catch her wrists.
“No.” I pin her hands above her head, holding both wrists in one hand. “You don’t touch me until I say you can.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Life’s not fair.” I lean down, my mouth finding her breast. I take my time with her, using my free hand and my mouth to explore every inch of her body while she writhes beneath me, unable to touch me back. When she’s gasping and begging again, I release her wrists.
“Now you can touch me.” It’s an order, not a request.
Her hands are on me immediately, sliding down my chest, gripping my shoulders, pulling me closer. I strip off my underwear and settle between her thighs again, but I don’t give her what she wants. Not yet.
“Ansel, please.” She tries to wrap her legs around me, to pull me to her, but I resist.
“Please, what?” I grip her thigh, holding her open. “Be specific.”
“I need you inside me.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Stop making me wait.”
