“That a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he puts his mouth on my pussy, and I stop remembering my own name.
There is nothing gentle about the need in him now. Careful, yes. Attentive, absolutely. But he eats me like a man with something to prove, like making me come is the only thing on his mind. His tongue drags through me slow and deep, then faster when I start shaking, and every rough sound he makes against my pussy sends another flash of heat through me.
I grab his hair.
He likes that.
I can tell by the way his hands tighten on my thighs.
“Weston,” I gasp.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear it.”
I do.
God, I do.
I say his name over and over, my hips twitching helplessly, my whole body going tight while he keeps licking, sucking like he takes my pleasure personally.
The first orgasm hits hard and fast.
I cry out and he does not stop.
He holds me open and works me through it until I’m trembling so hard I can barely breathe, then gives me just enough mercy to let the feeling ebb before he starts again.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
His eyes lift to mine from between my thighs, hot and wrecked and proud.
“You can take one more.”
I should not love hearing that as much as I do.
But I do.
The second one tears through me even harder than the first, my thighs shaking around his shoulders, my fingers tangled in his hair while he keeps me there until I’m almost sobbing with it.
When he finally kisses his way back up my body, his beard is rough against my skin and his mouth is wet and swollen and I think I might actually be in love with him already, which seems inconvenient but true.
He hovers over me, kissing me deep enough that I can taste myself on him, and that should not be as hot as it is.
Except it really, really is.
“You okay?” he asks.
I blink up at him, dazed. “You have got to stop asking me that when the answer is obviously no.”
That earns me the hint of a smile.
His hand slides between our bodies, guides himself to me, and presses in slowly.
The stretch still catches.
