"Yes," I say again, not even sure what the heck I'm giving him permission to do. I just know that he said he wants to see his handprint in my skin, and nowIwant it. So freaking badly.
His lips quirk in that way that isn't quite a smile—those are rare from him—but close. "We'll get there." His hand drifts up my leg again. "Part your thighs, Hattie baby. Let me see what I'm eating."
"E-eating?" Oh, sweet Jesus.
"Yeah, eating." His hand creeps higher. "As in, licking you until you're screaming."
Part of me wants to remind him that we're in a parking lot at a fancy opera house. The other part just wants to get to the eating part right now. That part wins by so many miles it's laughable.
I shift on his lap, parting my thighs until I feel completely exposed. The only thing saving me from utter humiliation is the fact that it's dark. Well, that and the way he's looking at me like he wants to burn the vision as deep into his brain as it'll go. This right here is what it feels like to be desirable, to be wanted…to be irresistible.
Watch out, world, I'm unstoppable.
"Oh!" I jerk, my whole body trembling when he touches me, his fingers ghosting against my sex. My head falls back, my breath already a shaky pant.
"Keep your eyes on me, butterfly," he rasps. "I want to see you."
I try. Really, I do. I keep my eyes on him while he strokes my clit until I'm whimpering. But there is no watching him when he hauls me up, trying to drape my thighs around his head. There is, literally, no room to work with in this truck. My head bumps the roof and then the door.
He shifts and twists, grunting and cursing while reclining the seat, until he's back as far as he can go, his head basically in the backseat. He drags me up his body again, holding me steady.
"Sit," he growls.
"On your face? You'll die!"
"Then let me."
"That cannot be nor—"
He yanks me down.
"Sidney!" I shout, clutching at the roof. One of my knees is jammed against the side of the truck. The other slips off his shoulder, pitching me sideways.
He just grunts and hauls me back into place, his tongue already lapping at my clit. And Christ Almighty, I don't know how many people are left in that opera house, but they're all about to hear me. I'm going to hit notes that would make Italy proud.
"That's it," he snarls against my pussy. "Ride my face."
Is that what I'm doing? It feels more like I'm hanging on for dear life as he thrusts his tongue inside me, fucking me with it. His hands squeeze and knead my ass, spreading my cheeks in a way that should not feel so damn good.
Everythingabout this feels good.
"Sidney," I sob, clawing at everything I can reach.
His beard tickles my inner thighs. His breath is hot against my skin. His nose keeps grinding against my clit every time I rock against him. I can'tstoprocking against him.
His fingers drift down the crevice of my ass, thrumming against my back entrance. He doesn't try to push inside, just adds a little pressure. Enough to light my whole body up.
I shout his name, coming in a powerful wave that won't relent. As soon as I think I'm done, he licks me again, or strokes me again, and sends me hurtling right back into another dimension.
I claw at his arms, at the door, my knees clamped around his head so tightly I'm convinced he's probably dead now. RIP, Sidney Hawkes. RIP, magical tongue.
But he isn't dead. He's just living his best life between my legs, eating me like I'm a whole meal. He groans and growls and snarls, every sound louder and more desperate than the last.
And then I'm moving through the air—literally. He bucks me off like a wild animal, practically tossing me into the backseat. His wild eyes meet mine, his big body trembling. I see my juices all over his face, see the feral glint in his eyes, and I choke on his name, my body igniting all over again.
"If I'm not inside you in the next two minutes, I'm going to destroy this entire fucking city," he growls.
"Yes."
