"Perfect," I breathed.
I buried my face in her.
I didn't rush. To rush would be to miss the data points. I started with a long, slow drag of my tongue, starting from the very bottom and tracing the entire length of her slit.
Rowan moaned.
It wasn't a polite sound. It was a long, jagged cry that bounced off the bookshelves and shattered the quiet atmosphere of the library. Her hips bucked off the desk, driven by a reflex arc she couldn't control.
I held her down. My hands tightened on her thighs, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where I needed her.
"Focus," I commanded against her wet heat. "Stay in the room."
I found the clit, swollen and hiding beneath its hood. I didn't attack it. I circled it. I teased the edges, analyzing the response. A twitch of her leg. A sharp intake of breath. A tightening of her fingers in my hair.
Cause and effect.
I licked a flat, broad stripe right over the center, and she unraveled.
"Oh god, Stephen, please," she babbled, her voice high and thin. "Just... the logic... it’s gone. It’s all gone."
"Good," I hummed against her. "You think too much. Let me do the thinking."
I settled into a rhythm. It wasn't the brute force I knew Mateo would have use, the necessary, grounding pound that shattered her panic. This was precision engineering. I flicked my tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, varying the pressure, finding the exact frequency that made her sob.
She tasted incredible. Like something wild caught in a trap, sweet and sharp and desperate. I drank her down, feeling a primitive, possessive satisfaction settle in my chest. I waswashing away the memory of the night before. I was rewriting the code.
Her hips began to grind against my face, seeking friction, seeking the end. I gave it to her, but on my terms. I slipped two fingers inside her, curling them upward to hit that deep, internal ridge, while my mouth never stopped its relentless work on the outside.
She was so tight. Fantastically, maddeningly tight. She clamped down on my fingers, her interior muscles pulsing in a way that threatened to make me lose my mind right there on the Persian rug.
"Stephen!" She grabbed my hair, pulling hard, trying to leverage herself against the sensation. "I’m close. I’m... I’m so close. I feel like I'm going to crash!"
"Don't crash," I growled, looking up at her from between her legs, my face wet with her. "Soar."
I increased the pressure. I sucked her clit into my mouth and used my tongue to flutter against it while my fingers drove deep, hitting the G-spot with a rhythmic, ruthless precision.
It was too much. It was exactly enough.
She broke.
It was a beautiful thing to watch. Her head fell back, her spine bowed, and a long, broken wail tore out of her throat. Her inner muscles seized around my fingers, milking me, fluttering in violent, rapid spasms. I stayed with her, drinking every drop of her pleasure, feeling the vibrations travel through her body and into mine.
I worked her through the peak, not stopping until the spasms faded into weak, fluttering pulses and her legs went lax against my shoulders.
Only then did I pull back.
I rested my forehead against her thigh for a moment, catching my breath. The room was spinning slightly. My ownblood was roaring in my ears, a heavy, pounding demand that hadn't been met yet.
I stood up.
Rowan was slumped on the desk, her chest heaving, her eyes half-closed and glassy. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, her shirt open, her hair a disaster. She looked thoroughly dismantled.
I felt a surge of pride so intense it was nearly blinding.
"Systems check," I said, my voice rougher than usual.
She cracked one eye open. A slow, lazy smile spread across her face, a look I hadn't seen on her before. It wasn't the sharp, shark-smile of a victory in court. It was soft. It was pliant.
