Goosebumps covered her body, from neck to thighs.
“You warm?”
She nodded, slow and kind of out of it.
Out of breath, weak in places and hard as fuck in others, I separated her legs, and kneeled between them.
“You’re beautiful.” Flushed, clearly aroused, smelling of wet, welcoming woman, she was everything I hadn’t let myself dream of in years. “Look at this pussy, all shiny and juicy. All pink and open, like it wants my cock.
She made a little denial sound in her throat. Instead of ignoring it, I followed a weird instinct and stretched up over her again. With my weight on one arm, I bent close, wrapped my hand loosely around her neck, and kissed her cheek. “Like you were made for me. Straight out of my fantasies.”
She swallowed under my hand, turned and met my eyes, hers big and glassy and dark as a summer night sky.
“I could worship this body for hours. Days. You gonna let me do that?”
She nodded, the movement slight, but there.
“Good.” I tilted my head enough to kiss her, deep and wet. Owning her while she owned me. “Now, open your legs for me and let me look at that beautiful pussy.”
23
Christa
Yeah, this wasn’t how I’d pictured this at all. Not when I’d felt that first inkling of desire, or admired his body, or even when we’d talked about a dirty weekend. I’d pictured him efficient and quick, the way he’d stacked wood and cooked dinner. Not slow and intense. Definitely bossy, but not so…intome, I guess.
Silly, right?
Maybe not, though, because I wasn’t typically that into guys, either. I expected sexual excitement, the thrill of newness, definitely. I’d even fantasized about encounters—usually anonymous, the man a faceless taker—where I’d been completely turned on. Utterly sexual, an object of desire.
What I hadn’t imagined, even in those private moments, was that a man could turn me into something more sensual than human. And it wasn’t just the place between my legs talking, it was every part of me—my brain, my skin, down to my most basic parts—atoms, molecules. Somehow, the way he touched me, talked to me, even looked at me, reduced me to a big, beating pulse. Quickening when my brain got involved, then lulled into a syrupy slow rhythm.
All I could think, while he stroked one sandpaper hand down my side was,I must be drunk.
Well, Jesus, if that’s what it is then don’t let me sober up.
Ever.
He returned to kneeling between my legs, saying words I couldn’t understand, hunkered down and put his mouth to me.
Oh, holy night.
Lips, kissing, so gently, I almost thought I’d imagined it. Another long, languorous kiss made me moan and reach for his head. His hair was too short to grab onto, so I scrabbled lower for purchase, latched onto his beard.
He growled and deepened the kiss, brought some tongue to the job, turned my insides to mush, then lower, forcing me to release my hold on him. His nose glided between my lips, down then back up to press to my clit and—
Oooooooooh, you’re kidding me.
How had I not known a man could do that with his nose? Another swipe up and it was his beard rubbing me. Good God, did the man have no taboos, no limits? He used every tool, everything he had to make me feel good.
Another slick slide and his mouth was back, thirsty for me, consuming me like a man starved and my pussy was going to save him. I almost laughed at the way I was thinking about this guy. Until he circled my clit with his tongue, then nibbled it.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” And then, because he wanted me to use his name, I let it go. A song. A prayer to this. “Micah.”
“Yeah.” The word rumbled against my flesh, dark and needy. “You taste amazing. Heaven. I want to eat you all night. All fucking weekend.”
Impossibly, my nipples got harder at that thought. Like he’d make me come and come and keep going. I’d never get him to stop. Jesus, he could kill me with this tongue. This raw, aching hunger.
His hands slid under my ass and around my thighs to open me wider, to look at me before putting his face back to me like he’d been hungering for this—for me—for ages.
