I cried out when his tongue circled my clit. I was already overly sensitive from being turned on all night. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Rowan paused and looked up at me. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop. It’s too much,” I breathed.
“You’re going to take what I give you, Goldilocks, but if you tell me to stop again, I will, and you’re on your own,” he warned.
“No. No. No. Don’t want that. Want more.”
“Then more you’ll have.” Rowan dived again into the promised land and tortured me even more slowly this time.
He spread my legs embarrassingly wide, pressing my knees back against my breasts. With his arms wrapped around my thighs, the hair on his arms tickled my nipples, peaked in arousal.
“Yes,” I hissed.
I felt his rumbling laughter against my core as his tongue darted between my lower lips and curled. My toes curled on the bed, and I would’ve thrown my head back in ecstasy, but that would probably give me a concussion.
My ass came off the mattress when he added one finger, then two into my vagina, curling them toward the front wall as he sucked on my clit.
I grabbed a handful of his hair. “Yes. Oh god yes.”
Rowan began tracing a figure 8 against my clit and labia with his tongue while finger-fucking me with three fingers. I thought I might end up pulling his hair out by the roots it felt so good.
With my other hand, I reached up and squeezed my breast, pinching the nipple. Everything felt so good, and I knew I was two seconds away from falling apart.
“Rowan! Yes. Rowan!” I screamed as he brought me to orgasm. But when I thought he’d let off the gas, he sped up his ministrations, dragging one orgasm into two.
“Fuck! Rowan!”
He slowed his licking until only his fingers were inside me, languidly stroking in and out. My pulse was racing from the orgasms, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across my skin.
“Rowan, that was?—”
He cut me off by pinching my clit, sending me right over the edge a third time.
“Fuck-tastic!” I squeezed my eyes shut and rode the wave.
I was spent. There was nothing left of me. I was a puddle of orgasmic goo. My obituary in thePleasure Point Newswould read:Kendra Jarrett, failed boat Captain, spinster, daughter, sister, and friend. She died having the best orgasms of her life and finally understood why Thomas Hardy called themles petites morts- the little deaths.
“Kendra?” Rowan hovered to my side. “Say something.”
“Fuck.”
“We can do that too, but maybe you need to rest.”
“No resting. More.” I yawned.
“You bet, Goldilocks. Close your eyes, and we’ll get going again in a few minutes,” Rowan said.
That sounded like a great idea. I’d rest for a few minutes.
Chapter 26
Rowan Rafferty’s origin story
The sun shiningthrough the windows in Kendra’s stateroom made her hair glow. That glow seemed to extend down her neck and shoulders, the only part of her exposed to me. The rest was under the sheet and comforter. When the rain stopped last night, it got cold, and we were cuddling in a cocoon of warmth between the covers.
She sprawled over me like I was her personal body pillow, and I didn’t hate it.
