The words hit me somewhere deep. This isn’t just sex. This is a declaration. A vow.
“I’ll let you,” I whisper.
He smiles—soft, private, just for me—and then his mouth is on my neck, trailing kisses down to my collarbone. Slow. Deliberate. Each press of his lips sending sparks across my skin.
“Lie back,” he says against my throat. “Let me worship you.”
“That’s very biblical of you.”
“I’m feeling reverent.” He nips at my pulse point, making me gasp. “You bring out my spiritual side.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Lie back, Josie.”
I sink onto the bed, and he follows me down, settling beside me rather than over me. The mattress dips under his weight, and I find myself rolling toward him instinctively, seeking his warmth.
“Patience,” he murmurs, pressing me gently onto my back. “I’ve got plans.”
“You keep talking about these plans.”
“Because I’m very committed to them.”
His hand traces patterns on my stomach—light, teasing, his calluses rasping against my soft skin—while his mouth explores my shoulder, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. He takes his time, mapping me like uncharted territory.
“Earlier,” he murmurs between kisses, “I didn’t get to do this properly. Didn’t get to taste every inch of you.”
“You tasted plenty.”
“Not enough.” He circles my nipple with one finger, not quite touching where I want him. “Never enough with you.”
I arch into his touch, seeking more, but he pulls back with a low chuckle.
“Patience.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep needing the reminder.” He finally—finally—closes his mouth over my nipple, and I gasp at the wet heat. “We have all night, Josie. I intend to use every minute.”
He lavishes attention on my breasts with excruciating slowness. Licking, sucking, nipping—alternating between them until I’m writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in the sheets. He drawsone nipple into his mouth and sucks hard while his fingers pinch and roll the other, and the dual sensation makes me cry out.
“Sensitive,” he observes, releasing me with a wet pop.
“You know I am.”
“I know.” He blows cool air across my damp nipple, and I shudder. “I just like hearing you admit it.”
“Smug bastard.”
“Your smug bastard.” He switches sides, giving my other breast the same treatment. “Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“Forever is a long time.”
“Not long enough.” He moves to sucks my nipple into his mouth, but stops, pulling back. He’s frowning, a serious expression that seems at odds with the teasing of the moment.
“I need to ask you something.”
I tense. “That’s ominous.”
