Before he can yank me off him, I sink him in to the root. He hisses, then groans, then hisses again.
“You’ll be the death of me, woman…” The words are low and gravelly. Overwhelming. And not in a romantic way.
This man is a human. He might not be weak, but he’s killable. How do I keep him alive in my world?
Since I’ve stopped moving, he takes the lead and rocks me against him.
His pulse rattles his mother’s ring. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
I push up onto my knees, evicting him from my depths. “Fine.”
Panic flashes through his stare. Panic and disbelief. “What are you doing?” he asks, fingers clenching around my hips, trying to ease them low again.
“Getting off your dick since you’re apparently not done with your pity party.”
He sits up, abs rippling, grabs my thighs, and hauls me forward so fast my palms fly to the headboard. “I may not deserve you, but I’ll take every damn thing you offer me.”
He squeezes my ass cheeks, driving my pussy into his face. My heart jumps, scattering beats everywhere. To think I’d scoff at passages where romance authors used the word “feasted” to describe the hero’s hunger for his companion’s body.
There is no better term to describe the fervor with which Cillian eats me out. Although his eyes are on my face, I can’t help but peek over my shoulder at his dick to check that he’s enjoying being smothered, or merely intent on my enjoyment.
When I catch his thick cock standing proud, I let go of my reservations and give in to the sensation. I even begin to ride his face.
Tiny constellations ignite behind my lids and flare as the mother of all orgasms hits and billows outward—into my nipples, my toes, my fingertips. Even the roots of my hair crackle like I’m combusting from within, transforming into vaporous heat.
Though Cillian’s grip on my ass is firm, I find myself clawing at the headboard to stay upright, probably ruining it like Cillian has just ruined my body with his expert tongue. He keeps lapping at me, seemingly intent on absorbing every last drop of my release.
He’d probably keep at it if I didn’t take mercy on his lungs and remove my pussy from his face. I collapse onto my side, right at the level of his very erect penis.
“That—right there—was the single best orgasm of my whole, entire life.” I grip his sex and tug at the skin, intent on returning the favor.
He licks his lips, watching me through half-lidded eyes, then palms my raw pussy before slipping a lazy finger through my folds.
“I’m going to be dreaming of tonight.”
“Me, too,” he murmurs.
“When I get back, I request a repeat.”
Cillian freezes up again, like he’d somehow forgotten I was leaving.
I tug on his silken length, loving how pliant and warm and veiny it is. I slip my thumb over the thin slit that’s shiny with precum. Though his abdomen contracts and his ribs spread, his expression remains pinched.
I prop myself up on an elbow and bring my mouth to his dick. When I close my lips around him, he shudders. I work his shaft and suck until he growls, “I’m about to blow.”
I pop him out to say, “Blow away.” And then I draw him back in.
He blows.
Oh…how he blows.
His climax comes out in powerful spurts that ribbon down my throat and cause me to gag.
He sweeps a finger along my cheekbone. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs reverently.
When I release him, he shifts in order to prop his back against the headboard and holds out his arms to beckon me forward. I knee-walk toward him and settle in a straddle.
He brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, gazing at me with an intensity that feels more intimate than the joining of our bodies. And then he slants his mouth over mine in a kiss so tender I feel it in my heart.
