“Perfect,” he murmured, lowering his head to capture one sensitive peak between his lips. “Fucking perfect.”
When his mouth replaced his hand, the wet heat of his tongue against sensitive skin sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him to me as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other.
“You like that, sweetheart?” His breath was hot against my damp skin, sending another rush of arousal through me.
“God, yes,” I gasped, arching into his touch. “Don’t stop.”
My hips shifted restlessly, seeking friction that wasn’t there. Understanding my need, Gunner’s hand slid up my thigh to the waistband of my jeans, his fingers working at the button.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough with desire but his eyes still seeking confirmation.
“Please,” I whispered, lifting my hips to help as he tugged the denim down my legs.
His hands returned to my thighs, tracing patterns on sensitive skin as they moved higher, the pressure building within me with each inch they covered. When his thumb finally pressed against the tiny bud of nerves through the thin cotton of my underwear, I gasped at the contact.
“Fuck,” he murmured, his eyes locked on my face as he repeated the motion, applying more pressure this time. “You’re soaked through. Is that all for me, sweetheart?” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
“Yes,” I breathed, beyond embarrassment as his fingers teased me through the damp fabric. “Only you.”
The teasing touches through fabric quickly became frustrating and I reached for his hand. I guided it beneath the elastic, eliciting a groan from both of us as his fingers finally met slick heat.
“Christ, Cassidy,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine as his fingers explored, learning what I liked, what pulled soft moans from my throat. “You feel incredible. So wet, so ready.” His fingers found my entrance, circling before slowly sliding inside. “You’re going to feel so good wrapped around me when I finally get inside you.”
The combination of his words and the pressure of his palm against my clit had me writhing against his hand. “More,” I pleaded, beyond pride.
He built me up slowly, methodically, watching my reactions with an intensity that made me feel both exposed and cherished. His thumb circled my tiny bundle of nerves as his fingers curled inside me, finding that perfect spot that had me gasping his name.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, eyes dark with desire. “Let me hear you. I want to know exactly how good I’m making you feel.”
When I was close, trembling on the edge, he slowed his movements, drawing out my pleasure until I was begging.
“Gunner, please,” I whispered, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
“Tell me what you need,” he demanded softly, his rhythm maddeningly steady but not quite enough.
“I need to come,” I gasped, beyond shyness. “Make me come, Gunner.”
“Sweetheart, look at me,” he commanded softly. When I did, the connection in that moment, his eyes holding mine as his fingers finally pushed me over the edge, was more intimate than anything I’d experienced before. “That’s it, let go for me.”
My release crashed through me in waves as his fingers continued their relentless rhythm, drawing out my pleasure until I was gasping his name, clutching at his shoulders as my body convulsed around his fingers. My chest heaving as I gripped the comforter and continued to thrust against his hand. It was too much, but not enough, as my clit continued to throb its own beat.
Before I could catch my breath, he lowered his head between my thighs, trading his fingers for the heat of his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue against my oversensitive flesh had me crying out, my hands tangling desperately in his hair.
“Too much?” he teased, his breath scorching against my core.
“No…” The word scraped from my throat, barely a voice at all. “Don’t stop.”
His answering hum vibrated through me, sending a shockwave of pleasure spiraling straight to my core. He devoured me with the same relentless focus he gave everything else, tongue circling my clit before dipping lower to taste me like I was his only salvation. His hands pinned my thighs wide, powerful and unyielding, keeping me open for him.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against me, every word a sinful vibration against my raw flesh. “I could do this for hours.”
The sight of him between my legs, broad shoulders anchoring me in place, eyes dark with hunger, nearly undid me. Then his fingers slid back inside me, curling deep while his tongue worked its magic, and I shattered.
“Gunner, I’m going to—” The words dissolved into a broken cry as release ripped through me, harder and hotter than before. My back arched, my body trembling violently as wave after wave of ecstasy left me breathless.
When the aftershocks finally released me, he moved up to gather me against his chest, fingers drawing lazy, possessive patterns along my spine. I melted into him, boneless, yet acutely aware of the thick, insistent press of his arousal straining beneath his jeans.
“What about you?” I whispered, sliding my hand lower with intent. “I want to taste you. To feel you.”
