“Dramatic.” But he relents, spreading me open with his thumbs, and I feel his breath hot against my center. The anticipation is almost worse than the waiting. “Look at you. Still wet from earlier. Still swollen. Still ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready for hours. I’ve been lying here thinking about you, about this, about how good you felt inside me?—”
He licks me—one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit—and the words die in my throat. My head falls back, my elbows giving out, and I collapse against the pillows with a moan.
“Keep talking,” he says, his voice muffled against my flesh. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I can’t—not when you’re—oh?—”
He’s eating me like I’m a delicacy to be savored. Long, lazy strokes of his tongue. Gentle suction on my clit. Nothing like the urgent devouring of this afternoon—this is slow, deliberate, designed to build me up gradually rather than push me over the edge.
“You were thinking about me,” he prompts, pausing just long enough to speak. His lips are wet, glistening with my arousal,and the sight makes my thighs clench. “About this. What specifically?”
“About—” I gasp as his tongue circles my clit. “About how you felt inside me. How big you are. How full. How I could barely walk after.”
He groans against me, the vibration making my hips buck. “What else?”
“About how you—fuck—how you pinned my wrists down. How you took control. How you made me beg for it.” I’m babbling now, saying anything to keep him going. “About how you made me come three times like it was nothing, like you could have kept going all day?—”
“I could have.” He slides a finger inside me, so slowly I feel every inch, every ridge of his knuckle. “Would have. If we’d had time.”
“We have time now.”
“We do.” He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, curling them forward to find the spot that makes me see stars. “All the time in the world.”
He works me with his fingers while his tongue continues its maddening rhythm—slow circles around my clit, punctuated by long licks and gentle suction. The pleasure builds like a tide—slow and inevitable—and I feel myself climbing toward the edge.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my most sensitive flesh. “I can feel you getting close. Feel you tightening around my fingers. Feel how much you want this.”
“Boone—”
“Don’t hold back.” He curls his fingers, stroking that spot inside me in time with his tongue on my clit. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come.”
The orgasm rolls through me like a wave—not the sharp, explosive peak of earlier, but deeper. Longer. I cry out his name as it crests, my whole body trembling with the force of it, my walls clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs. His fingers slip free slowly, and I whimper at the loss.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, crawling up my body to hover over me. His chin is wet with my arousal, and he doesn’t seem to care. “So fucking beautiful when you come.”
I reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss. I taste myself on his lips—tangy, musky—and the intimacy makes me even hotter.
“Inside me,” I murmur against his mouth. “Now. I need to feel you.”
“Not yet.” He kisses me deeper, his tongue sliding against mine. “I’m not done worshipping you.”
“Boone—”
“Turn over.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Turn over.” His voice is soft but commanding. The voice of a man who’s used to being obeyed. “On your stomach.”
I comply, and he settles over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. He’s still mostly dressed—jeans and an unbuttonedshirt—and the contrast of his rough clothing against my bare skin makes me shiver.
His mouth finds the back of my neck, kissing down my spine one vertebra at a time.
“I didn’t get to do this earlier,” he says against my skin. “Didn’t get to explore all of you. I was too busy trying not to come in the first five minutes.”
