The sundress that wraps around my body moves up my waist and as I look down at him his eyes swirl with darkness, he licks his lips as he gazes at my glistening pussy like it’s as magical as I find the words on the pages of this book.
My feet are resting on his knees as he looks at me with a dark look of promise. It’s different this time. He’s not forcing himself on my body. I’m letting him in because I want it as much as he does.
His fingers glide up my thighs, but it isn’t forceful or possessive. His touch is light and tender, filled with warmth that makes my knees weak. “I want you to keep reading. Don’t stop. I want you to read while I devour your pussy.” His deepvoice crawls around my body. “Come on, little bird, pick up your book and read.” He smirks.
I settle back in my seat and hold the book up, scanning the words on the page but struggling to read and get lost in the book as his head disappeared between my legs.
His tongue feels hot and erotic, like it burns just to feel him slide his tongue along my pussy, I bite my lip trying to keep my eyes on the words in front of me but all I can think of is the crawling desire with every slight lick I feel against my dripping pussy.
My fingers curl tightly around the book as I try to keep myself from moaning his name on my tongue like a whisper I dare not speak.
I can feel his tongue press harder against me slowly moving up to my clit, he sucks me into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing me and the little moans I’d held in fall out, my fingers are slipping from the book as I slide down closer to his face.
His tongue swirls relentlessly, and I can’t hold it in any longer. “Oh, Ashton.” I cry out. His name slips out as the pleasure crawls through my body.
His tongue continues to slide up and down my pussy in torment. I’m not even looking at the book any longer, although it still sits open on my chest.
My fingers tease his hair, hoping that he doesn’t stop now he’s noticed I’m no longer reading—he doesn’t.
His tongue continues to slide lower until I feel him enter me, my back arches and I can’t hold it in anymore, the incoherent screams rip from my body and I push his head further into my greedy pussy, I can feel my legs shudder while his tongue deeply massages my pussy.
“Come on, pretty girl, cum for me.” I hear him mumble.
The way his tongue lashes at my pussy relentlessly has thedesire coiling everywhere. It feels like sparks shoot from my body as desire collapses around me, shattering every fucking part of me until I feel the hard release that rushes through my body. Screaming out, I see stars as I pour everything I have into his willing mouth.
He laps up every drop that he pulled out of my body and as I look at his head slowly raise, he smirks and I’m no longer feeling desire but something else—something warm that penetrates my heart.
“You are a bad girl.” He gasps. I look at him, confused. “You stopped reading your book.” He smiles.
I wish I had words, but there are none.
Seeing him like this, playful and sweet in this room that he had built just for me, makes the warmth rush to my chest. I smile back at him, still panting. “Your fault.” I smile. “All your fault.”
He didn’t need to say anything else. The mischievous look in his eyes tell me everything I needed to know:
This man was going to ruin me and, goddammit, I was going to let him.
21
ASHTON
Sunlight pours in through the large kitchen window, filtering across the counters and catching the dust motes in its path. I’m at the stove, focused on flipping pancakes, my mind already occupied with the day ahead. The sizzle and pop of batter hitting the hot pan keep me in rhythm, methodical, almost like a meditation. Then I hear the soft patter of her footsteps.
Dove slips into the room, barefoot, her eyes catching on me with a spark of mischief that I catch in my peripheral. I glance her way just in time to see her grab an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it with an exaggerated, loud crunch. She smiles when I turn, eyebrow raised.
“You know,” she says, leaning casually against the counter, “for a guy who has everything perfectly lined up in his head, you look a little out of your element with breakfast.” She takes another loud bite, her eyes dancing with amusement.
I shake my head and focus back on the pancakes, fighting a smile. “I’m hardly out of my element. I make these every Sunday.”
“Do you, now?” she challenges, sidling up beside me and peeking into the pan. “Because I saw you add… what, three tablespoons of salt?”
I glare at her, but I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. “It was sugar.”
She laughs, her voice bright and easy in the morning quiet. “Sure it was.”
Her laugh feels like it fills the whole kitchen, and I’m suddenly aware of how small the space feels with her in it—how her energy seems to spread across the whole room. I turn back to the stove, but she’s already moving again, sneaking over to where I’ve laid out the plates. She’s slipping a hand into the bowl of blueberries I set out as toppings, popping one into her mouth with a grin.
“Those are for the pancakes,” I say, shaking my head but not stopping her.
