This orgasm is different—deeper, longer, rolling through me in endless waves that leave me boneless and barely conscious. I’m making sounds I don’t recognize, animalistic sounds, and when he finally pulls away and rises to his feet, I nearly collapse.
He catches me easily, gathering me against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”
I cling to him, trembling, trying to process what just happened. Three orgasms. He gave me three orgasms in the span of ten minutes, and I’m barely standing. My legs feel like jelly, and my brain feels like it’s been liquefied. I have never, ever felt anything like this.
I want it again and again.
And he does too.
Something hard presses against my hip. His dress pants are still on. He still hasn’t taken anything for himself; he’s only been giving, and suddenly, I want to give him something back, want to make him feel even a fraction of what he just made me feel.
Besides, I’ve always wanted to do this.
I slide out of his arms and drop to my knees.
His breath catches. “Mia?—”
“Fair’s fair.” My fingers find his fly and undo the top button. “You’ve had your taste. Now, I want mine.”
“You don’t have to—” he says, his voice hitching.
“I want to.” I look up at him through my lashes as I tug down his zipper. “Ireallywant to. Let me.”
He doesn’t argue.
I free him from his trousers, and my eyes go wide. I knew he was big—I’ve felt it pressed against me enough times tonight—but seeing it is something else entirely. Long and thick and already leaking from the tip, it’s straining toward me like it knows exactly where it wants to be.
He’s fucking perfect.
I wrap my hand around the base, and he groans, his hips jerking involuntarily. God, he’s soft, so damn soft and hard at once.
“I’ve been thinking about this too,” I admit. “Your cock in my mouth.”
“Fuck, Mia?—”
I lean forward and lick the tip, salt and skin that makes my tastebuds dance. He makes a strangled sound, his hand flying to my hair, and I take that as encouragement to take him deeper.
I don’t know what I’m doing, not really. I’ve read about this in romance novels, watched porn, imagined it in my more desperate moments, but the reality is messier and wetter and so much better than anything I imagined. The weight of him on my tongue. The sounds he makes when I suck. The way his fingers tighten in my hair like he’s holding on for dear life. It makes me feel uniquely powerful to take a man like Vanguard, a super soldier, a superhero, and have him at my mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Just like that. Take more—fuck, your mouth feels incredible?—”
I take him as deep as I can, relaxing my throat the way I’ve read you’re supposed to, and he swears viciously. His hips are moving now, shallow thrusts that push him deeper, testing my gag reflex, and I look up to find him watching me with an expression of wrecked wonder.
“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he rasps. “Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. Gonna make me come—gonna?—”
He pulls back abruptly, his cock slipping free of my lips with an obscene pop. I make a sound of protest.
“Not yet.” He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving. “Not like this. I want to be inside you when I come. Want to feel that tight little cunt wrapped around me?—“
“Nate.” The word comes out broken. “I should tell you something.”
He pauses, concern flickering across his face. “What is it?”
I can’t look at him. My cheeks are burning, which is ridiculous after everything we just did, and I focus on his chest instead.
“I’m a virgin.”
