She was bare before me, and I paused, just looking.
Taking her in.
The curve of her breasts. The dip of her waist. The soft swell of her hips—every line, every shadow a masterpiece. She was beautiful, not in a polished, untouchable way, but in the realness of her, the way her body told stories of life lived fully.
"You're incredible," I murmured, my voice rough with awe.
She reached for me, but I caught her hands, kissing her palms before pinning them gently above her head.
"Let me," I said. "Just let me love you like this."
She nodded, her breath catching. When I released her hands, she kept them there, surrendering to the moment.
I started at her feet again—not rushing, but savoring.
I massaged one sole with my thumbs, pressing into the arch until she sighed, then lifted it to my mouth, kissing the instep, my tongue tracing the delicate curve. She twitched, a soft laugh escaping, but it turned into a moan when I sucked her big toe into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.
Her eyes widened, surprise mingling with heat. "That's ... new."
I smiled against her skin. "Good new?"
"Yes," she breathed.
I did the same to each toe, slow and thorough, feeling her body relax and tense in turns, her breaths coming faster. Then I moved up her calves, kissing the muscle there, my hands kneading gently as I went.
When I reached the backs of her knees, I lingered, my tongue tracing the sensitive hollows until her thighs parted slightly, inviting.
But I didn't go there yet.
Instead, I rolled her onto her side, curling behind her, my body spooning hers. My mouth found the nape of her neck, kissing the soft skin there, my tongue tracing the vertebrae down her spine one by one.
She arched back into me, her body pressing against my growing hardness, but I held her hips still, not letting friction distract from the worship.
My hand slid around to her front, but not to her center—instead, to the soft underside of her breast, lifting it gently as my mouth continued down her back. I kissed the dimples at the base of her spine, then lower, spreading her with careful hands.
My tongue traced that hidden seam again, light and teasing, circling without pressure, tasting the intimacy until she was whimpering, her body trembling.
"Connor—please—you?—"
"Not yet," I whispered, my breath hot against her.
I turned her onto her back again, settling between her legs but not entering her. Instead, I focused on her arms—lifting one, kissing the inside of her wrist, then up to the crook of her elbow, sucking gently at the pulse point there until her free hand clutched the sheets.
She was panting now, her body flushed, eyes dark with need.
I moved to her collarbone, tracing it with my tongue, then down to the valley between her breasts. I kissed the soft skin there, avoiding her nipples, letting the anticipation build until she was arching toward my mouth.
God, her taste.
When I finally took one breast in my hand, lifting it to my mouth, I sucked the underside deep, my tongue pressing flat against the curve. She gasped, her hips bucking, and I felt her wetness against my thigh.
I switched sides, worshipping the other the same way.
Her breaths came in short gasps now, her body trembling on the edge.
I moved lower, kissing her belly, my tongue dipping into the soft folds down low, tracing patterns that made her hips roll. My hands parted her thighs wider, but I focused on the creases, tasting long paths that skirted her center, building the ache.
She was soaking now, her arousal coating her inner thighs, and I tasted it there—slow attention that made her moan my name.
