“Still with me?” I ask against her skin.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I press my mouth to her pussy.
She jerks, a broken sound slipping out of her, and I hold her hips without pinning her down.
“Easy,” I murmur. “You’re safe.”
Her thighs tremble around my shoulders.
I go slow at first. A kiss. A lick. A careful stroke of my tongue that makes her fingers twist in the blanket and her breath catch hard enough to hurt me. She tastes sweet and warm, and the control I’m holding on to starts to fray at the edges.
This is for her.
Only her.
I learn her one reaction at a time. The little gasp when my tongue finds her clit. The way her hips lift when I circle it again. The soft, shocked moan she tries to swallow when I give her more pressure.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “Let me hear you.”
“Ace.”
My name comes out ruined.
Fuck, that sound.
Her hand lands in my hair, then freezes.
I groan against her. “Leave it.”
Her fingers curl, tentative at first, then tighter when I don’t pull away.
Good girl, I think, but I keep it behind my teeth.
I slide one hand up her thigh and hold her open for my mouth. She shakes harder, but she doesn’t pull away. She gives me more of herself with every broken breath, and I take only what she offers.
Slow enough that she can stop me.
Deep enough that she forgets why she would want to.
Her hips start moving before she seems to realize it, small helpless rocks against my tongue. I follow her rhythm, giving her more pressure, more heat, more of what makes her shake.
“Don’t hold back,” I tell her. “Not with me.”
“I can’t,” she gasps.
“You can.”
“I feel... Ace, I feel...”
“I know.” I lace my fingers with hers and hold on. “Let it happen.”
Her body tightens.
Her thighs press against my shoulders. Her hand locks in my hair. She makes a soft desperate sound, and I keep my mouth on her, steady and sure, taking her right to the edge.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Come for me.”
