Could he read her mind?
“Now circle your clit with your finger.”
She did as he asked. Carefully. Her finger slowly circling her engorged nub. “Fuck,” she whimpered, it felt so good but not good enough. She wanted him to touch her, to lick her, to fuck her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked gruffly.
“That I want you…I want you to touch me, to lick me, to fuck me.”
His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down the bed to him roughly, and she felt his face between her legs.Felt his five o’clock shadow rubbing against her inner thigh.
“Remember, you don’t come until I say you come.” His breath fanned her sex.
She wanted to tell him she would do her best, but then he brushed her clit with the softest flick, made her gasp, then stroked her folds, gathering her wetness and her mind blank except for the feeling of being wanted so intensely and so singularly.
A whimper escaped her as her hands fisted the comforter at her side as her back arched. She thought for sure the second he touched her, it would be over, but maybe he had some sort of voodoo over her body because she hadn’t. She wasn’t sure how she was going to be able to obey him, but she would try.
He didn’t rush, didn’t force. He just explored, learning her, working her up with a patience that bordered on cruel. His tongue slid up her seam, and when it hit her pleasure nub, it was the best thing she’d ever felt in her life.
“You taste so good, so sweet,” he said, voice rough, and she let out a shaky exhale she hadn’t meant to. He sounded so earnest, so sweet, it was confusing to her brain.
He licked her, slow and thorough, savoring her, as if he had nowhere else to be. He sucked her clit, then traced it with his tongue, then back again. He alternated between soft, teasing flicks and hard, hungry pressure. She lost all sense of time, of place, all she knew was the relentless ecstasy of his attention.
She was so close to the edge, she had no idea how she wasn’t going over it.
When he eased a finger inside her, curling it as he licked, she began to tremble uncontrollably. He seemed to sense how close she was, and he growled—an honest-to-god animal sound of satisfaction—before he doubled down, mouth and hand working in perfect tandem.
“I could eat you all fucking night,” he said, voice muffled by her flesh. “But now I want you to come on my mouth.”
That was it. His command sent her into another dimension. Her hips bucked, and she moaned, loud and shameless, her fingers clutching the sheets. It hit her in a single, blinding, tidal-rush of pleasure, an explosion that detonated in her core and traveled outward, lighting up every synapse.
His mouth never left her, his hands never stopped coaxing her, and he continued to coax her with dirty encouragements, pushing her further, higher, until she shattered into a thousand pieces. She came hard, she saw stars, her body arching and trembling with every uncontrollable spasm, the sounds escaping her somewhere between a sob and a whimper.
He told her to give him all of her. She did. She gave him everything, every ounce of sensation and need she’d ever had, and he devoured it, working her through the waves, not pulling back even as her thighs quaked and her stomach clenched and her hands scrabbled for purchase on the sheets. If anything, he became more possessive, holding her open, lapping up every tremor, every gasp, every shiver of aftershock. His tongue traced lazy, claiming circles over her clit, as if he were inscribing his name onto her body. Not that she knew what that was. She had never known anything like it, never believed in this kind of loss of control, this absolute surrender.
Dimly, she was aware of his hands moving, broad palms anchoring her hips as if she might levitate off the mattress if he didn’t hold her down. The world was a pinhole of sensation, her body became the only geographythat existed, mapped by his mouth, his words, and the heat of his breath as he whispered, “You’re so fucking perfect.”
Then he kissed her, and he was gone. For a long, floating moment, she stayed there, spinning in the afterglow, unable to do much more than breathe and feel and absorb the reality of what he’d just done to her.
She was barely aware that he had removed her blindfold as she began to recover. As she blinked her eyes open, she found him standing in front of her totally naked, and every thought in her brain disappeared. Nothing else than the two of them existed, actually, when she saw the size of him, maybe it was the three of them.
7
Deacon still couldn’t believethis was actually happening. Even as it was happening—Jen blindfolded, her body flushed and trembling from the orgasm he’d just given her, pink and swollen from the attention of both his hands and his mouth, skin glowing with sweat and arousal—it felt like a hallucination. A fever dream conjured by his own exhausted, overclocked mind.
When he’d sent her into the room to change, it had been for entirely practical reasons, he needed to get condoms sent up to the room. While he was alone, waiting for the protection to arrive, he’d paced like a caged animal, wrestling with the fact that he hadn’t had sex in years. Not months.Years. Not since his world had imploded and everything became about work and raising Tabby. He’d lost touch with friends, didn’t socialize, he went to the gym, work, and home. Nothing for himself. Even masturbating had lost its appeal. Every urge had atrophied to a dull flicker. Until her.
Now every touch, every taste, every sound she made, involuntary gasp, and whimper lit him up from the inside.There was nothing tentative about their chemistry. It was volcanic, an all-consuming need, and it caught him completely off guard.
He’d expected to be nervous, to second-guess himself maybe. Instead, the second he’d put his hands on her—hell, the second he saw her in his shirt—instinct took over and he didn’t think, he just did. The only thing stopping him from flipping her over and fucking her until she couldn’t walk was the faint, brittle thread of his self-control.
He’d tried, desperately, to take the edge off. To desensitize himself by focusing on her breasts, her mouth, the way she responded to every command. He’d tried to dissociate, even a little, to build a firewall between his brain and body, but it was impossible.
Jen was his literal fantasy come true. Every box ticked, every dream manifested. Curves for days, soft and lush in all the right places. A personality that was equal parts snark and sincerity, the rare kind that could banter and then look at you with such sweetness it made your chest ache. She was responsive, so fucking responsive. Every moan, every twitch, every tremor was a direct line to his own brainstem. Everything he did seemed to wind her tighter.
And her pussy…perfect. The word felt insufficient, but there was no other way to describe it. He was obsessed. He could smell her even now, the sharp, sweet scent of arousal lingering on his lips and chin. He’d barely gotten a finger inside her before he realized he wasn’t going to last five minutes, not if she made those sounds, not if her body clenched up around him, not if she looked up at him with those huge blue eyes like he was the only thing she’d ever wanted.
She was everything he ever desired in a partner, fantasized about. She gave him control, and that is what hethrived on. He’d always been a perfectionist, even as a kid. If something was worth doing, it was worth doing flawlessly. In first grade, he’d redrawn his alphabet worksheet six times because the first ones looked “sloppy.” In high school, he’d rewritten his notes after every class, sometimes in color-coded ink, just so the information would be cemented in his brain.
