When he finally takes me into his mouth, I arch off the bed with a gasp. The wet heat of his tongue circles the sensitive bud, flicking and teasing until pleasure shoots straight down to my core. His teeth scrape gently—just enough edge to make me whimper—then his tongue soothes the sting with long, slow licks.
He lavishes attention on one breast while his hand works the other, rolling and tugging my nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Heat pools between my thighs, slick and insistent. Every pull of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth sends electricity racing through my nervous system.
"Still feeling bossy?" he murmurs against my breast.
"Maybe."
"Let's see what we can do about that."
He kisses his way down my stomach, mouth hot and open against my skin. Each press of his lips sends tremors through my muscles. He pauses at my hip bone, teeth sinking in just enough to make me cry out before his tongue soothes the sting. Lower still, his breath ghosts over my inner thigh as he positions himself between my legs.
Broad shoulders force my thighs wider, spreading me open for him. Rough hands grip my hips, holding me in place. The anticipation coils tight in my belly as he just looks at me for a long moment—exposed and wanting and completely at his mercy.
When his tongue finally makes contact, dragging slow and flat through my wetness, my back arches off the bed. The first taste of me pulls a groan from deep in his chest that vibrates against my sensitive flesh.
"Oh god."
"Tell me what you like," he says, breath hot against sensitive flesh.
"That. Exactly that."
He takes his time mapping me with his mouth, learning every fold and edge. His tongue explores in long, slow strokes that make my thighs tremble. He licks through my wetness, tasting and savoring like he has all the time in the world. When he flicks the tip of his tongue against my entrance, I gasp and my hips buck involuntarily.
His hands grip tighter, holding me still as he continues his methodical exploration. A soft hum of approval rumbles through his chest when I moan. He learns quickly—what makes me gasp versus what makes my breath catch, what earns him a whimper versus what makes me curse.
When he finally finds my clit, circling the swollen bud with just the right pressure, pleasure spikes through me so sharp I cry out. My fingers tangle in his hair, not pulling, just needing something to anchor me as sensation floods my system.
"There," I manage. "Right there."
He hums approval and the vibration almost undoes me. His tongue flattens, then the tip flicks in quick succession. Two fingers slide inside me, curling to hit exactly the right spot.
"You're so wet," he groans against me. "So perfect."
The combination of his mouth and his fingers builds pleasure too fast. I thread my hands into his hair, not pulling, just needing to hold onto something.
"Thatcher—"
"Let go. I've got you."
His fingers pump faster, curling to hit that perfect spot inside me with every stroke. His tongue circles my clit with relentless precision, alternating between firm pressure and light flicks that drive me insane. The dual assault is overwhelming—pleasure builds in waves, each one cresting higher than the last.
My thighs shake. My breath comes in ragged gasps. The tension coils tighter and tighter in my core, every nerve ending firing at once. I'm right on the edge, suspended in that perfect moment before?—
The orgasm slams into me like a freight train. I come calling his name, back arching so hard I nearly lift off the bed. My inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through me, stealing my breath, my vision, my ability to think. White-hot ecstasy radiates outward from my core, making my toes curl and my fingers grip his hair almost painfully.
He doesn't stop. His fingers continue their relentless rhythm, his tongue gentling but never ceasing as he draws out every last tremor. The aftershocks roll through me in decreasing waves, each one making me gasp and shudder. When I finally go limp, completely wrung out and boneless, he presses one last soft kiss against my oversensitive flesh before slowly withdrawing his fingers.
He kisses his way back up my body, lingering at my hip, my ribs, the valley between my breasts.
"Still feeling bossy?" he asks, grinning.
"Completely wrecked."
"Good."
I taste myself on his lips when he kisses me. I should probably be embarrassed but I'm not. I just want more of him.
"My turn," I say when I can form thought and words again.
