"I have no idea," she says honestly. "But most men would."
"I'm not most men," I tell her. "And I'll prove it."
"How?" There's a challenge in her voice.
I only have one answer. One way to show her what I mean. I lean forward, my heart pounding against my ribs. "I hope you don't get mad," I murmur, and close my eyes.
Time slows down. I faced IEDs with less fear than this moment, afraid my lips won't find hers, that she'll get up and leave with my son. But when our mouths meet, it's like a fucking explosion inside me. Better than I remembered, better than anything.
Her lips are soft, hesitant at first, then pressing more firmly against mine. She tastes like the citrus tea we've been drinking. And, fuck, I should have never run away. I should have stayed, found out who she was beyond that one night.
She places her hands on both sides of my head, and a wave of calm washes over me, something I haven't felt in years. No demons screaming in my head, no need to clench my fists or run, nothing but this moment, this woman.
My cock throbs against my jeans, but this isn't about me. She's the one who deserves to be rewarded. For her strength, for raising our son alone, for everything.
I break the kiss and stand up, suddenly determined. She looks up at me, confusion in her eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"
"You were perfect," I assure her. "But I want more. I want to taste you."
Her eyes widen as I drop to my knees in front of the couch. I reach for the waistband of her jeans, my intentions clear. She doesn't stop me. Instead, she lifts her hips, helping me slide the denim down her legs.
She's wearing plain white cotton panties, practical and worn. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"I didn't expect this to happen," she says quietly.
"I know," I tell her, my voice rough with desire. "You have nothing to worry about."
I hook my fingers into the sides of her panties, pulling them to the side rather than removing them completely. She has a small patch of auburn curls between her legs, and the sight makes my mouth water. I lean in, breathing in her scent, before pressing my tongue against her slit.
She gasps, head falling back as her fingers grip the couch cushions. The taste of her floods my mouth. Sweeter than I remembered, with a hint of salt. I groan against her flesh, the vibration making her thighs tremble on either side of my head.
I place my hands on her inner thighs, spreading her wider as I explore her with my tongue. Her wetness coats my beard, but I couldn't care less. All that matters is her pleasure, the small sounds she makes as I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue.
"Dean," she breathes, one hand moving to tangle in my hair.
I look up, meeting her eyes as I continue licking her. The sight of her… Flushed, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, is the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.
"You don't have to—" she starts, but I interrupt her.
"I want to," I growl against her flesh. "Let me make you feel good, Sidney."
She bites her lip, nodding, and I return my attention to the task at hand. I slide one finger inside her while I focus my tongue on her clit, and she's so tight, so wet. Her hips rock against my face, seeking more friction, and I'm happy to oblige.
I add a second finger, curling them inside her as I suck her clit between my lips. Her breathing quickens, her thighs trembling, and I know she's close.
"That's it," I murmur against her. "Let go. I've got you."
She comes with a muffled cry, her hand pressed against her mouth to keep quiet. Her inner walls pulse around my fingers as I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks fade.
When she finally relaxes, I pull back, wiping my beard with the back of my hand. She looks dazed, beautiful in her dishevelment. I want to burn this image into my memory forever. Sidney sprawled on my couch, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with satisfaction.
"Come here," she says softly, reaching for me.
I move up to sit beside her, and she immediately presses her lips to mine, tasting herself on my mouth. Her hand slides down my chest, toward the obvious bulge in my jeans.
"Your turn," she whispers.
I catch her wrist gently. "You don't have to."
