Arousal seeps deep into my core, the bottom half of my body already naked.
Exposed.
Bare.
Dawson’s face is stoic, lacking all expression as he watches me. And yet, I know he feels this magnetism between us. This pull that’s been there since day one.
For once, I let go, allowing him to have me in a way I haven’t given anyone else for far too long. I lift my hand, smoothing it over my stomach. Ever so slowly, I drop it, inching closer and closer to the warmest part of me. The pad of my finger lightly brushes over my clit. My hips jerk in appreciation. I can feel how wet I am, how inexplicably turned on my body is because of being watched, because ofwhois watching me.
“Feel yourself,” Dawson encourages in a low tone.
I listen, dipping my finger down between my lips and feeling just how excited I am. Wetness coats the pads of my index and middle finger.
“How much do you want it?” His eyes are on mine now, begging for the answer that’s desperately clawing its way up my throat.
“I want it so badly, Dawson,” I murmur.
“Show me.”
Those two words are like a magic potion to my system. I don’t delay it. My fingers swirl over myself, enticing my eyelids shut as I sink into the moment, into the feeling.
“You’re going to have to open your eyes, Emory,” Dawson says a second later. “That way I can see just how far you fall when you let go.”
I moan, lifting one of my feet to prop it on the sofa right next to his knee. “I don’t understand how you have such an intense pull on me.”
His hand reaches out, circling my ankle, his thumb trailing over the delicate skin. “Some things aren’t meant to be understood. They’re just meant to be felt.”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down. I’ve always been one to slip away during moments like this, so keeping my eyes open proves to be more difficult than I realize.
My fingers work over my flesh, over that greedy spot of nerves that is drunk off Dawson’s stare, his eyes, his entire damn aura.
He is safety. The eye of a storm that never seems to come. The warmth of a firepit on a cozy, autumn evening. He is who my soul reaches for, and who I want to tell all my truths. Even if they hurt. Because I know he owns the salve that will pull the pain right out of me.
His hand tightens around my leg. “You are so damn pretty, Emory. Every inch of you, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, unable to say anything else. I’m too busy focusing on chasing that electrifying feeling pooling in the center of my being. I swoop my fingers down low again and collect my arousal. I want to feel it on my skin, on my clit, onhim.
“Don’t have much to say?”
“N-no,” I stammer, my eyes fluttering again. I fight to keep them open, to keep them trained and focused on the man in front of me who I feel bonded with and tied to in some odd way.
I wasn’t supposed to fall for my therapist.
I was supposed to heal. To dig myself out of the dark hole I fell into. And I guess I did do that, but on my way to finding that sunshine inside of me again, I found him.
“Chase it,” Dawson says, scooting forward to drop down onto his knees in front of me. His hands skim up my legs and over my knees, his fingertips digging into my thighs as he watches me. He dips down and presses his lips against my porcelain skin, and my eyes really do fall shut. His wet tongue trails close to the apex of my thigh, and I let out a little whimper that can be heard for miles.
“Since the moment I met you, I’ve wondered what it’d be like for my mouth to touch every part of you.” His hands move higher and those eyes snap up to mine. “I want to taste you. Will you let me?”
My fingers slow their movement, even though I’m so close. Because yes, yes, yes, I want to feel him against me. “Are you sure? I mean, I-I’m almost there.”
A devious smile traces his lips. “Considering I’m really struggling with my patience at the moment, there’s nothing better you could give me.”
Gently, he pulls my hands away and lowers his mouth to me.
I swear to god all the air inside of my lungs leaves me. It’s not until a grumbly groan leaves him that I get my shit together and suck in a breath.
His mouth on me is like silk on silk.
