My breath trembled out of me at the words, at the way he said them like he’d been waiting a very long time to say them aloud.
Then he lowered his head again and kissed above my heart, his lips dragging heat through my chest. I arched, pressing into him.
He worshiped my breast with his lips and tongue, lavishing it with a groan that thrummed through me. I gasped his name, the sound raw with wanting, and he answered by drawing my nipple deeper into his mouth.
His hand cradled my hip as his lips closed around the tight, aching peak, coaxing it with a devastating gentleness. A low moan escaped my throat as he sucked, the heat of his mouth pulling another shudder from deep inside me. His other hand glided up my side, his rough fingertips grazing the edge of my hip before easing over to cup my other breast, his thumb circling in tandem with the rhythmic pull of his mouth.
I could do nothing but feel. The world had narrowed to the points where he touched me, tasted me, breathed me in. My legs shifted, restless beneath him, searching for friction, for anything to anchor me against the rising tide he’d dragged from deep inside me. He switched sides, dragging his open mouth across the sensitive valley between my breasts, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
“Becken…” My voice was hardly more than a breath, but he heard me. He looked up, a thread of restraint visible in the tight line of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.
“Is this alright?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak through the storm swelling inside me. My fingers still woven into his hair, I urged him back down, needing more of what he’d started.
His lips curved. “Good.”
And then he was worshipping a path down my torso, over the fluttering tension of my belly. He paused at my navel before continuing lower, his fingers tracing idle circles on my hips. Every touch made me feel like I was dissolving, shaped and reshaped by this male alone.
When he reached the waistband of my underwear, he stilled. His gaze met mine again, this time asking for something deeper. I nodded again, my eyes wide, and my heart thundering loud enough to drown out everything else.
With exquisite care, he slid the fabric down, his hands slow and careful. I lifted my hips to help him, my nerves and need warring beneath my skin.
“You drive me mad,” he whispered.
The words sent a shiver of anticipation through me. I’d never had a man speak to me like that, with such raw hunger combined with careful consideration. The combination was intoxicating.
“Please,” I breathed.
And then he bent again, and all thoughts unraveled, swept away by the sensation of him kissing my thighs with the same tenderness, the same aching awe, that he’d given my breasts.
He settled his upper body firmly between my thighs, his large hands gentle on my legs as he positioned me exactly where he wanted me. When his mouth first touched me, I cried out, my back arching off the bed. He explored me with his tongue andlips, learning what made me gasp, what made me writhe beneath him.
He watched me as if I was a poem he was learning line by aching line. He trailed feather-light kisses along the inside of my trembling thighs. Each press of his lips was tender, worshipful, his breath warm on my sensitive skin.
Then he found my core, sucking and gliding his scratchy tongue across my clit.
He slid one hand up, stroking along the apex of my thighs before dipping between, his fingertips finding me slick and wet. His groan rang out. “Amazing. Perfectly, wonderfully amazing.”
With a thrust, he buried a finger inside me.
I nearly came from his mouth and finger alone. I could already tell this was going to be achingly good.
I moaned, lifting my hips, needing more.
His tongue teased, his fingers driving in and out of me in a rhythm that was going to shoot me through the roof of this tiny cabin. The combination of wet heat and slow tongue action was almost too much. A fresh wave of pleasure swelled inside me, curling low in my belly.
“Oh… Becken…” My voice came out broken.
He groaned, and the sound vibrated through me, sending another shiver dancing across my skin. He didn’t rush. Didn’t chase. He gave, each movement designed to unmake me.
He shifted, lowering himself further between my legs, spreading me open so he could taste me more fully. His tongue lapped with increasing intensity, then softened again, drawing me into a rhythm I couldn’t control. His fingers teased and coaxed in ways that made my thighs shake.
I clutched the blankets, digging my fingertips into the fabric as my pleasure rose, one peak at a time. His name tumbled from my lips again and again.
When he slid more fingers inside me, stretching me, I nearly came on the spot. I rolled my hips into the motion, seeking his drives without shame. He dragged his fingers across that perfect spot inside as his mouth continued its exquisite rhythm above.
I shattered like glass, my voice a hoarse cry in the room. My body bowed off the bed, my thighs trembling around his shoulders and my head thrown back. He kept going, drawing every last tremor from me as I came undone beneath him.
