"You can."
He lowers his head again, and I sob as his tongue finds me once more. I'm so sensitive it almost hurts, every nerve ending raw and exposed, but he doesn't care. He eats me like a man starved, groaning against my pussy like the taste of me is the only thing keeping him alive.
The second orgasm hits harder than the first. I scream this time, actually scream, my body bowing off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and I don't even know why I'm crying, just that it's too much and not enough and I never want it to stop.
He pulls back just long enough to catch his breath, his chin wet, his lips swollen. "One more."
"I can't." I'm shaking, my voice wrecked. "Phoenix, please, I can't?—"
"One more." He kisses my inner thigh, soft and almost tender. "Give me one more and then I'll fuck you so hard you forget your own name."
I whimper, but I don't say no. Can't say no. Not when his fingers are sliding back inside me and his thumb is circling my clit and his mouth is trailing kisses up my stomach.
The third orgasm takes longer to build. My body is wrung out, oversensitive, trembling with each touch. But he's patient. So fucking patient. He plays me like an instrument, knowing exactly when to press and when to pull back, reading every gasp and moan.
When I finally come again, it's different. Deeper. A slow roll of heat that starts in my core and spreads outward until my whole body is shaking with it. I clutch at his shoulders, pulling him up to me, needing to feel his weight, his warmth, his skin against mine.
"Please," I hear myself beg. "Please, Phoenix, I need you inside me. I can't—I need—please?—"
He crawls back up my body, his lips wet, his eyes blazing.
"You begged," he says, and there's wonder in his voice. "You actually begged me.”
"Never." He kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue. "I'm going to remember that sound for the rest of my life."
"Phoenix—"
"I know." He reaches between us, positioning himself. "I know what you need."
He pushes inside me in one long, slow stroke, and we both groan.
He's bigger than I remember, and it takes a moment for my body to adjust to the stretch of him. He holds himself still, muscles trembling with the effort, giving me time.
"Okay?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He starts to move.
It's slow at first. Deliberate. Each thrust hitting something deep inside me that makes my toes curl and my back arch. His eyes never leave my face, watching every reaction.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs against my ear. "Better than I imagined. And I imagined this a lot."
"Stop talking."
"No." He punctuates the word with a harder thrust that makes me cry out. "I've been silent for years. Watching you from a distance, wanting you, never saying a word. Now I get to tell you exactly what you do to me."
He speeds up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. The angle changes and suddenly every stroke is hitting that perfect spot, the one that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
"That's it," he breathes. "Just like that. Let me feel you."
I'm climbing again, that familiar pressure building at the base of my spine. He can feel it too, I know he can, because his rhythm gets faster, more urgent, his grip on my hips tightening.
"Come for me, Jade." His voice is ragged. "Come for me and I'll give you everything."
I break apart with his name on my lips.
He follows me over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep and groaning against my throat as he pulses inside me. We stay like that for a long time, tangled together, hearts pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps.
