My smile comes a little late.
The next question sits at the edge of my tongue all night, the one everyone else kept orbiting. "Does it make you want to stay?"
He pauses, knowing I won't like the answer, but then says, "Yeah. I didn't spend too much time with them before. Always felt off because of the whole family dynamics." His thumb strokes the back of my hand. "But now I feel like I can finally breathe. Thanks to you."
He tugs me in for a kiss that's a little too excited, and I melt into it, tasting the alcohol on his tongue despite him brushing his teeth, until a yawn slips into his mouth.
He pulls back with a faux-insulted face. "Wow... romantic."
I pout, too drunk on fatigue to care. "Too much wine, too many relatives—as lovely as they are—I'm breath away from crashing."
And sure enough, I'm gone.
Until, sometime between dream and dark, I jolt awake.
My brain stutters as I feel the wet, insistent drag of pressure where it shouldn't be.
One murky second. Then clarity comes when I look down.
Ben's eyes glint up at me from between my thighs.
"Good, you're awake," he rasps. His fingers hook the seam of my fishnets, tearing it with a rasp of nylon as he draws me down the silky sheets, closer to his mouth.
"Ben! What are you—?!" My whisper warps into a moan the second he drags his tongue between my folds in one long, slow stroke, his scruff rasping against my sensitive skin.
"You," he says thickly. "You're in my bed. We're on the top floor. I'll make history count."
"No. Hell no. Mara and Paul are sleeping in the bedroom below," I whisper, voice full of dread.
I shove at his shoulder, but it's pointless—he smirks, knowing exactly how little fight I've got against him, physically and emotionally. He spreads my knees apart, pressing them into the mattress, and lifts my hips.
The second my pussy is right in his face, my face heats up from the exposed angle.
"So pink. And mine. Only mine," he growls.
He licks his way down my left thigh, then the right, worshipping each inch before dragging through my middle with firm pressure.
Okay… that feels good.So good it knocks the defiance out of me, and my legs fall open for him.
His tongue devours me like he means to live off me—lapping, circling, plunging deep, pulling hot, helpless sounds out of me.
A tightening coils low in me, and when my orgasm rips through my body, I clamp my teeth shut to keep from screaming his name into the dark.
When I manage a half-hearted glare, his swollen lips curl, pleased at how fast he can ruin me.
He shoves his boxers down and springs free, then kneels between my legs—face of a dark angel, body of a daredevil, his cock rock-hard and pointed at me like a threat he intends to deliver.
He gives himself one slow stroke and it twitches in his fist, a hot bead spilling onto the sheets.
I swallow hard.
He keeps stroking himself, eyes locked on my body, daring me to break first as his breath turns ragged.
I want him. God, I want him—exactly when I shouldn’t.
But I do.
No, Emma… that... that is a Roman monument... you can't choke on that in his boyhood room...
