I slide back when he starts towards me.
His big hands reach for my panties.
Good idea.
I need them off. Want them off. Now.
And I’m panting, desperate to be free of the material, but he stops, waiting for something.
When I realize it’s permission he’s waiting for, I swear I almost come.
“Take them off, Thatcher.”
He groans, pulling them off slowly. He kisses my chest, sucks one hard nipple into his mouth, and I gasp.
Then his lips move to my belly. My hips. And he kneels at the foot of the bed, spreading my legs wide.
“Fucking bubblegum,” he moans and I frown.
What?
But I have no time to ask, because Thatcher isn’t finished kissing me.
He leans forward and presses his whole face up against my pussy, and for one long moment, he just breathes in my scent.
My mouth hangs open. I don’t know what to do with this. With him.
But then he licks my entrance with long, determined strokes of his tongue.
I gasp. Thatcher groans, then he slides a thick finger inside. He kisses my pussy, licking his way to my clitoris. Then he sucks.
And I see stars.
CHAPTER 23
THATCHER
It’s not just bubblegum.
It’s my favorite damn kind—the one I was obsessed with when I was a kid.
The kind we chewed at Little League, stuffing our mouths with it before practice, blowing bubbles we weren’t supposed to, laughing like we didn’t know how fast the world would get hard.
Sweet. Tangy. Familiar.
And it hits me so sharply it damn near hurts.
Because that scent is her.
Wrapped up in warmth and softness and need.
It’s innocence and heat tangled together, and it makes something primal rear up inside me.Delicious.
And I want to devour her.
Willow is everything I knew she would be—responsive and real and undone in my arms, breath hitching, soft body yielding like she’s been waiting for permission she never needed to ask for.
And when she comes apart beneath me—clinging, gasping, trusting me with sounds and reactions she didn’t even know she had—I know this isn’t a moment.
