He hums again, low and approving, his mouth sealed around my swollen nub now, sucking just hard enough to make my toes curl. My fingers find his hair, tangling in the dark strands, holding him there like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
The sounds I’m making are embarrassing. Wet, needy little whimpers. Broken yeses when he does something particularly devastating. I don’t care. Not when his tongueis swirling like that. Not when his fingers are moving slow and deep, his thumb pressing at my entrance like he’s testing how much I can take.
Then he pulls back just a fraction, breath ghosting over my soaked pussy lips, and I whine, my body already missing his mouth.
“Mmm.”
The sound rumbles in his chest, satisfied, like he’s just tasted something exceptional.
“That’ll do.”
His voice is rough, smug. I can hear the smirk in it before I see it, the curve of his lips, the dark glint in his eyes when he lifts his head to meet my gaze.
I should be embarrassed. I really should.
But, the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious, something his, makes my chest tighten.
“Cocky bastard,” I manage, voice unsteady.
There’s no heat in it. Not when he’s still got two fingers buried inside me. Not when his thumb is tracing lazy circles over my clit, keeping me right on the edge.
He chuckles, low and dark, then moves up my body, mouth crashing into mine before I can protest. I taste myself on his tongue, musky and sweet, and it should be weird.
It isn’t.
It’s hot.
His kiss is slow, deep, like he’s got all the time in the world. I melt into it, fingers sliding from his hair to his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath my palms. His hand stays between my legs, fingers still inside me, flexing just slightly.
I gasp into his mouth.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, pupils blown.
“So needy,” he murmurs, thumb pressing a little harder against my aching clit.
I shudder.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His mouth finds my jaw, tongue tracing the line of it before he nips my earlobe, teeth just sharp enough to make me squirm.
“You’re dripping, Christa,” he growls. “Look at you. So fucking greedy for it.”
His fingers slide out of me slowly, deliberately, and I whimper, hips trying to follow them. He doesn’t let me. Instead, his hand drifts lower, fingertips teasing the edge of my pussy, not quite dipping inside, not quite giving me what I want.
I’m trembling now. Strung tight. Skin hypersensitive everywhere he touches.
His lips find the pulse point beneath my ear, tongue flicking over it before he sucks lightly, and I moan, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Geoff—”
It’s a plea and a warning all at once.
He hums, breath hot against my neck.
He could push me over. He knows it. One more flick of his tongue, one more press of his fingers, and I’d be coming apart beneath him, nails raking down his back, voice raw from screaming his name.
But he doesn’t.
