“Ask me,” he said against my thigh, the tip of his tongue licking me.
“Colt.” My hand gripped the sheets.
“Ask me, Charlie.”
“Please,” I said. “Please.”
I had theories about this. I’d read enough to have very thorough theories. Every single one of them was completely catastrophically insufficient.
My head arched back as his thumbs parted me, his warm breath fanning over my moist center. “So, wet, baby. So wet for me.”
I cried out as he placed his mouth on me. I cried out again as his tongue thrust inside me. I’d never ever felt anything like that before in my life.
The man could kiss, but this… this was totally off the charts.
He held my hips down with one big hand spread across my stomach. My stomach was my Achilles heel but right now, the weight of his hand felt like ownership, not judgment.
He thrust two fingers inside me and I screamed. Not a low moan of want, an actual scream. My hands went to his head, my nails scraping against his scalp.
I would have sworn he laughed against me, but Colt didn’t laugh.
“Easy, baby. Let it happen.”
Let what happen, I wanted to ask, but I was too lost in the sensations he was creating. His fingers, thick inside me, his mouth having found that spot on my body. And his tongue. It flicked across the bud, hard and fast, when his mouth wasn’t sucking it deep inside his mouth. He devoured the juices that were seemingly pouring from my body.
I stopped being embarrassed about any of the sounds I was making.
This was Colt making love to me and heaven help me if he ever decided to stop.
He was learning me. I could feel it — the way he paid attention to every response, adjusted, filed it away. The particular focus he brought to every task he’d ever done in my bar, applied here, applied to this, to me, and it was the most overwhelming attention I’d ever received in my life.
“Stay still,” he said against me when my hips tried to move.
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His hand pressed down hard. “And you will.”
When he slid another finger inside me, I grabbed the headboard and held on. He worked them slowly, unhurried, the same patience he’d been practicing for weeks applied here at the worst possible moment, and I said his name in a way I’d never said anyone’s name before and probably couldn’t have replicated if asked.
“Look at me,” he said.
I looked at him, lying there between my thighs, which was not a position I’d ever been in, and the expression on his face was something I was going to be thinking about for a very long time.
“Come for me,” he said. His fingers thrust in hard, deeper, the fingertips curling just right…
And I did.
I came apart like something that had been wound too tight for too long. He worked me through every second of it, every wave, until I was limp with satisfaction and reaching for him.
He kissed his way back up my body.
“Colt,” I managed.
“Yeah.”
“Now.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now.”
