Another deep groan tears from his throat.
Moving with hesitance, his large, calloused hands slide down to the waistband of my sweatpants. They’re his, and far too big for me. He is incredibly gentle as he hooks his fingers into the fabric, working the thick material down over my hips, sliding it carefully past my knees and completely freeing my legs from the heavy clothes that had been swallowing me up.
He tosses the pants aside, but he doesn't plunge back over me. Instead, his gaze travels slowly back up my bare thighs before his eyes lock onto the center of my underwear.
Right where the pale cotton is visibly darkened, completely damp from how much I’m craving him.
My next breath catches in the back of my throat when I suddenly feel his thumb pressing against that wet patch.
"Am I correct in assuming you've never had a man lick you here before?" A little more pressure and I'm bucking my hips to get a little more friction.
I've barely touched myself, let alone anyone else down there. So, easily, I nod my head to his question.
A soft, pleasant hum leaves Dawson at my answer. The way his eyes drop back down, I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking.
His thumb drags across the damp cotton one more time before his fingers hook into the elastic of my underwear. He slides the fabric down my legs with agonizing care, mindful of my bad ankle, until the last layer that hides me is tossed to the floor.
I’m completely bare beneath him now, my pulse hammering in my ears, but he doesn't let me hide. His large hands slide up to grip my hips, pinning me gently to the mattress as his gaze drops. He just stares as he takes in the sight of my flushed skin and the glossy, weeping slit of my pussy.
The sheer intensity of his stare makes me want to squirm, to close my legs, but the grip of his hands keeps me right where he wants me.
"Lucia..." His voice is rough, thick with a silent praise that makes my head spin. He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine, looking so hungry, my stomach clenches. "Unbutton your shirt for me."
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely function, but I reach up anyway, my fingers fumbling blindly against the first button at my throat. The fabric parts open, exposing a fraction of my skin.
Just like that, I watch this man battle himself over where to look. Even more, once I’m three buttons in, revealing my chest. My breasts, hardly impressive, catch his attention like they’re perfect enough to win an award.
Squirming as I fight with the fourth button, his hands squeeze my thighs.
"Don't move," he commands softly, the hint of a growl making my toes curl on their own. "The couch was bad enough. I’m not letting you injure yourself any more tonight. Just lie still and let me have you."
Before I can even process the breathless rush of his words, his hand slides between my thighs.
His calloused thumb finds the very top of my slick opening, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with a slow circle.
A helpless gasp tears from my throat, my back arching off the mattress on instinct. My fingers freeze on the next button of my shirt, entirely paralyzed by the sudden wave of pleasure.
Dawson watches my face, his own jaw clenching as he uses his fingers to gently part my outer lips, fully exploring the wet, unknown heat of me. He presses deeper, his thumb sweeping through the glossy moisture he created from nothing but our heated kisses.
I try desperately to focus on the next button, wanting to give him what he asked for, but my coordination is completely gone. My hands drop uselessly against my chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of my half-open shirt as another heavy wave of pleasure rolls through me. Not with what he’s doing to me down there. Not when every stroke of his hand is turning my entire body into one big puddle against his mattress.
Satisfied with what he’s doing to me with his thumb alone, he presses his face into the apex of my thighs.
The first touch of his tongue is a broad, hot stroke that sweeps from the bottom of my opening all the way to the top.
My fingers instantly dig into the rumpled blankets beside my head as a shiver rolls straight down my spine. He’s so impossibly warm, his mouth a contrast of soft heat and rough, unyielding hunger against my sensitive skin.
I’ve never heard the noises leaving my lips. They’re not just moans but cries of overwhelming pleasure.
He groans right against me, parting my lips completely with his fingers so he can press deeper, burying his face in my wetness. His tongue laps at me with a heavy, rhythmic suction, pulling a helpless whimper out of me.
I lose count of how many times his name leaves my lips. Running on repeat, it feels like that’s the only world left that I know. Anything else is too confusing, too complicated.
I try so hard to stay perfectly still, terrified of moving my injured ankle and ruining the sheer perfection of what he’s doing to me, but the pleasure is too vast, too consuming to contain.
While my bad leg stays carefully pinned, my uninjured leg bends at the knee, my foot digging hard into the mattress as my thigh tenses, trembling violently with the desperate need to buck against his mouth.
Dawson catches the movement, his large hands sliding up to grip my hips even tighter, pinning me down so I don't accidentally twist. He lifts his head for a fraction of a second, his lips slick and shining with my moisture, his stare ravenous.
