I take my time with her. Use my hands first. Stroking, teasing, learning every sensitive spot and curve of her. She's hot and wet and so responsive that every touch draws a new sound from her lips. I slide one finger inside her, then two, curling them just right, and she gasps.
"Jake—"
"Shh. Still dreaming, remember?"
I work her slowly, building her up with deliberate patience. My thumb finds her clit, circling it in lazy patterns while my fingers move inside her. She's writhing now, fully awake, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Then I move lower.
I lift her thighs over my shoulders, settling between her legs, and press my mouth to her center.
She cries out, loud and uninhibited, and her hands fly to my hair. I lick into her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, then faster as her hips start to move. She's pulling my hair, grinding against my face, making sounds that are going to live in my memory forever.
"Don't stop," she gasps. "Please don't stop—"
I don't stop. I work her with my tongue, with my lips, with everything I have, until she shatters against my mouth. Her whole body shakes with the force of it, her thighs clamping around my head, her voice breaking on my name.
I ease her through the aftershocks, gentling my touch as she comes back down. When I finally lift my head, she's staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, her chest heaving.
"Good morning," I say.
She laughs—a breathless, incredulous sound—and then she's pushing me onto my back.
"Your turn."
Before I can respond, she's sliding down my body, tugging at my boxer briefs with determined hands. I lift my hips to help her, and then her fingers wrap around me and I stop thinking entirely.
"Madison—"
"Shh." She throws my words back at me with a wicked smile. "Still dreaming."
Then her mouth closes over me, and I groan.
She takes her time. Explores me with her lips, her tongue, her hands. Learns what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my hips jerk off the mattress. I wrap my hands in her hair. Not guiding, just holding on, and try to remember how to breathe.
"God, Madison." My voice comes out rough, wrecked. "It's never—I've never—"
She hums around me, and my eyes roll back.
"So good," I manage. "Nothing has ever felt this good."
She picks up the pace, her head bobbing, her hand working the base of me in perfect rhythm. I'm losing control. I can feel myself hurtling toward the edge with no way to stop.
"I'm close," I warn her. "Madison, I'm—"
She doesn't pull away. Takes me deeper instead, and that's it. I'm gone. The orgasm tears through me like a wildfire, my whole body shuddering, her name on my lips like a prayer.
When I finally come back to myself, she's climbing up my body with a satisfied smile. I pull her against my chest, tucking her head under my chin, and we lie there in the aftermath.
My hand finds her back. Starts rubbing slow circles over her spine, up between her shoulder blades, down to the curve ofher waist and back again. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest, following the lines of muscle.
We don't speak. Don't need to.
I stare at the ceiling and let myself feel it all. The warmth of her body against mine. The softness of her skin under my palm. The steady rhythm of her breathing.
And underneath it all, the growing certainty that I'm not ready to let her go.
But that's exactly what I have to do.
