Ignoring the taunt in his reply, I tip my glass, spilling champagne between my legs. Though I’m prepared, I still give a tiny gasp at the cold contact. “Oops.”
“Someone can’t be trusted,” he says, taking the glass from my hand. My whimper is small but full of desperation as he parts me with his thumb and forefinger before raining champagne down on my clit.
“Oh, that is…” Shockingly cold, trickling, and tickling. The opposite of the gnawing, pulsing need inside me.
“What a mess.” His gaze turns wicked as he watches me there, his head slowly tipping. “I probably should…”
“Yes. Yes, you definitely should.”
A faint smile curls on his lips, but then it’s gone.
His mouth, by contrast, is shockingly warm. I screw my eyes tight, not quite believing my own audacity as his tongue laps atmy wetness, at the champagne. I mewl and twist as he reaches my clit, but not too much because, God, I want this.
What even is my life? Yesterday, I was at work, worrying about the lack of sales and biting my nails at the thought of having to go over my numbers with Whit. And now I’m lying on this sun-drenched patio, drinking champagne—soaking in it—and being licked within an inch of my life. By a man who is far too good looking—f-far too good at this.
“Oh!my That is…”
“I fucking love the noises you make.” Raif groans. Eyes closed, he curls his tongue into me like he’s chasing the last lick of his ice cream cone.
Sweet, sweet Lord. What is going on?
His lashes flicker open, his gaze crawling up my body as he sucks on my clit, causing me to cry out. I’m pretty sure I also levitate.
“I can’t wait to hear how you sound as I bury my cock deep inside you.”
I whimper as he sets his mouth on me again, his tongue an achingly soft swirl over my clit. “Oh, Rita…”
The vibration of his low chuckle is a whole other level, but then movement catches my eye. The glass—I read his intentions immediately. He brings it to his mouth and sips. Inhales, really. And the sensation. Far out. All the tingles and all the fizzes as he engulfs my clit between his lips.
“Oh God. Raif, please!” I move my legs, not sure if I want to stand or wrap them around his head.
He swallows—it shouldn’t sound erotic—and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Princess,” he growls, “open your goddamn legs.”
There shouldn’t be anything sexy in that either, yet there is. As I spread myself at his command, my back arches from the lounger. I crave his dark eyes and his attention. I can almost sense the brush of his tongue.
“I just can’t believe how fucking pretty you are.” My body bows, but his hands tighten on my inner thighs, forcing me to still. His appraisal makes me feel like I might burst from my skin with pleasure, every inch of me wantonly aching.
The sun beats down, and a bird glides through the azure sky, the only witness to his dark head lowering once more between my legs. To my cries as they ring across the terrace.
10
RAIF
“Ready.”
I set down my glass and take Lavender in as she stands at the threshold. I almost expect her to tip up onto her toes as she seems to brim with a nervous kind of energy.
My eyes slide over her because, fuck, she is gorgeous. She has her shorts on again, the hems folded higher, exposing more of her tan, toned legs. The laces of her boots are messily open, and her socks rucked. These are the same clothes she traveled in mostly, but for her tank, which is a one-shouldered Grecian-style thing.
But she looks different. Maybe it’s the top of her hair, which she’s piled messily on the top of her head in a sexy bedhead style.
Sunlounger head, my mind whispers.
Well, I certainly gave her that. And took nothing in return.
What the fuck is with that?
