I’m already rolling my hips up into his hand before he can answer, desperate for contact, for friction, for him.
Monty groans low behind me, and it goes straight through my spine.
“You sound so fucking needy,” he breathes, kissing the hinge of my jaw.“You really want to come on my fingers before the sun’s even up?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He kisses down the side of my neck.Slow.Controlled.A brush of lips.A scrape of stubble.My thighs clench.
Then he murmurs, right at my ear, “You’re wearing Cally’s boxers.”
I go still.
His hand stays where it is, cupped between my thighs, but he doesn’t move.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he says, rough and low.“You’re in his boxers.But you’re wet for me.”
My breath catches.My cheeks burn.
He finally moves again—fingers slipping slow and lazy over my clit like he’s petting me through it.
“So fucking naughty,” he murmurs, dragging the words out.“You want me to tear these off with my teeth, baby?”
I can’t answer.I whimper.
“You want your foul-mouthed control freak to ruin these boxers while he eats your pussy like it’s his only job on earth?”
I nod frantically, twisting in the sheets, trying to push them down myself, but he catches my wrists.
“No,” he says, voice like silk over steel.“I’m doing this my way.”
Then he rolls me to my back, his body moving over mine like smoke and muscle and hunger.He kisses down my chest, pushing the oversized shirt up inch by inch, lips trailing heat.
“I’ve been dreaming of this mouth,” he whispers, dragging the fabric up and off, exposing me completely.“Of how you taste when you beg.How you sound when I don’t let you come.”
He drops between my legs, palms firm on my thighs, holding me open like he already knows I’ll try to squirm away.
“I’m going to lick you so slow,” he murmurs, breath warm against my skin, “you’ll forget how to want anything but this.”
And then he does.
His mouth—fuck.It’s heat, pressure, and precision so filthy it shouldn’t be legal.He licks me once, flat and slow, from the bottom of my slit to the tip of my clit, and my back lifts off the bed.Just a little.Just enough to make him growl.
“Stay still,” he says, his voice low and rough and fucking in control.“You asked for this, sunshine.You wanted my mouth?Then take it.”
I gasp.“Monty?—”
“You’re already soaked,” he mutters, like he’s upset by how easy I make this.Like I’m the one torturing him.
His tongue circles my clit once, then again, then pulls back just enough to breathe against me.
“I could live down here,” he whispers.“You taste like sex and fucking salvation.”
My thighs try to close around his head.His grip tightens.
“No,” he says, mouth dragging over the tender skin of my thigh.“You stay open for me.”
And I do.I can’t not.
