“Logan, I’m?—”
She comes hard, clenching around my fingers, and I feel every pulse of her orgasm. I keep moving through it, drawing it out until she’s trembling and oversensitive.
When she finally slumps forward, forehead pressed to my shoulder, I slowly withdraw my fingers, and she whimpers at the loss.
“That was—” she starts, still breathless.
I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her, and her eyes darken watching me.
“Not done yet,” I say.
She bites her lip, then slides off my lap. For a second, I think she’s going to settle beside me, but instead she moves between my legs, and my heart stops.
“Sloane—”
“Last time,” she says, voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks, “you got on your knees for me.” Her eyes flick up to mine, challenging. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.”
My brain completely flatlines.
She notices, and her smile turns wicked. She pulls my sweats and boxers down in one go, and I lift my hips automatically. My cock springs free, already hard and leaking, and she stares at it for a moment with undisguised want.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
I’m about to ask if she’s okay when she wraps her hand around me—tentative at first, testing the weight and feel of it—and every coherent thought evaporates.
“Sloane,” I groan.
She strokes me once, experimental, watching my face for reactions. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Just like that.”
She does it again, firmer this time, and my hips jerk involuntarily.
“You’re so hard,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her thumb swipes over the tip, gathering the precum there, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I grit out.
She leans in closer, and I feel her breath ghost over my cock. “I think I’m starting to figure it out.”
Then she drags her tongue up the underside, base to tip, and I nearly come apart right then.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, hand flying to her hair.
She does it again, more confident now, swirling her tongue around the head before taking me into her mouth.
The heat, the wetness, the slight suction—it’s almost too much.
“Is this okay?” she asks, pulling back slightly, and the sight of her—lips wet, eyes dark with arousal—might actually kill me.
“It’s perfect,” I manage. “You’re perfect.”
She smiles, then takes me deeper, and I have to force myself to breathe.
She’s learning as she goes—testing what makes me groan, what makes my grip tighten in her hair. When she hollows her cheeks, I actually see stars.
“Just like that,” I breathe. “Fuck, Sloane?—”
She hums around me, pleased with herself, and the vibration makes my eyes roll back.
