Her hand wraps around me again—skin to skin this time—and the shock of it rips a groan from deep in my chest. She strokes once, twice, slow enough to be reverent, bold enough to be devastating.
Then she leans down and kisses the tip of me—and gives one soft, curious lick.
My hips jerk. My vision blurs. I nearly come in her mouth like a boy.
I grip her wrist because I will not lose myself faster than I can worship her back.
“Sophia,” I rasp, “I need… I need you.”
I kiss her and flip her gently—not fast, not dominant, just enough to breathe again. She draws in a sharp breath, then smiles against my mouth.
My hand trails down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts. Her heat hits me like sunlight after winter.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Flavius—”
“I want to taste you,” I murmur. “Let me?”
Her hips lift in answer, a small, instinctive offering. Then her fingers slip into my hair—gentle at first, then firmer—drawing me down between her thighs before I can think. I feel the slight tremor in her legs, the way she’s breathing in careful, measured counts—present but also regulating herself, staying with me instead of disappearing into her head.
I start slow—soft kisses to her thighs, the crease of her hip, the tender hollow just beside where she needs me most. Her muscles tremble under my mouth.
Then I taste her.
Warm. Slick. Sweet. The kind of taste that makes a man believe in gods again.
She sucks in a sharp breath, helpless, and her hands tighten in my hair.
I lick her lightly first, tracing the shape of her, learning every place she shivers. Then deeper—slow, deliberate strokes that make her hips lift off the mattress.
“Flavius—oh—” Her voice breaks.
I circle her with my tongue—teasing, patient—until she moans in frustration and tightens her thighs around my head.
There. That sound. That need.
I close my mouth over her and suck—not hard, but deep enough that her entire body jolts.
“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop—” Her voice is breathless, wild.
I add two fingers—slow, steady—curling them just right until her back arches and she cries out my name like a prayer torn from her chest.
Her orgasm hits in a wave—thighs shaking around me, breath shattered, hands clutching at anything she can reach.
I don’t stop until she pulls weakly at my hair—too sensitive.
I ease the pressure, kissing her gently as the aftershocks ripple through her.
When I rise above her, she grabs my face with shaking hands and pulls me into a kiss that steals what remains of my restraint.
“Come here,” she whispers against my lips.
I settle between her thighs—not entering her, not crossing that line—but pressed close enough that the heat of her curls around me like a fist.
She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me closer. Closer. Until the length of me grinds against her slick warmth.
We both groan. Loud. Uncontrolled.
Her hands cup my jaw, forcing my gaze to hers.
