“Will,” she breathes out.
I look up at her from where I am, and she’s staring down at me with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and slightly parted lips. I hold her gaze and lower my mouth to the inside of her thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, and her head drops back against the pillow.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she says softly, as if she’s surprised that she didn’t know it could feel like this.
She didn’t know.
The thought moves through me with a tenderness so fierce it almost hurts.
I want to give her this.
I want to give her every version of being cared for that she hasn’t had yet, every good thing she’s spent being too patient and selfless to ask for.
I take care of her with my mouth, my tongue flicking against her clit in careful strokes, learning the sounds she makes, the way her breathing changes, the way her hand tightens in my hair and then loosens and then tightens again as I find what works and stay there, giving her nowhere to rush to and no reason to hurry. She’s trying so hard to be quiet, but she is not entirely succeeding, and every small sound she fails to swallow makes something fierce tighten in my chest. I am acutely, almost painfully aware of the house around us, Jonas’ door down the hall, the fan still running, the stillness of the place.
But I am more aware ofher.
More aware of the way she says my name when she stops trying to hold herself back. More aware of the way her free handfinds the sheet and grips it like she needs to be anchored to something solid.
I want to be that for her.
Not just tonight.
In every way that counts.
Her thighs tremble on either side of me, and I feel the tension building. Her whole body is drawing inward and tightening, her breathing coming in short, uneven pulls that she’s trying desperately to keep controlled. Her hand in my hair stops its gentle resting and grips, her knuckles pressing against my scalp, and I stay where I am and give her exactly what she needs.
“W-Will.” My name comes out fractured, barely a whisper, more breath than sound, and I feel her thighs press inward against me like she can’t help it, like her body is making decisions entirely independently of her brain.
I slide my hands up the outside of her thighs, and I feel the exact moment she stops fighting it. The moment she stops trying to manage it and just lets it take her.
Her back arches off the bed, a long, slow curve, her free hand flying up to cover her mouth, pressing hard, her eyes squeezing shut. A sound rises in her throat that she catches just in time behind her palm, muffled, desperate, and unmistakable. Her whole body shudders, one long rolling wave of it from her core outward, her heels pressing into the mattress, her hips rolling against my mouth before she can stop them, chasing it, riding it out.
I don’t stop. I ease Millie through every last second of it, gentling gradually, reading her, staying with her as the trembling slows, the tension unravels, and her body sinks back into the mattress, as if every bone in her has gone soft.
Her hand falls away from her mouth, and her fingers in my hair loosen, and her chest rises and falls in long, unsteady breaths as she tries to find her rhythm again.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then her inner thigh, then I rest my cheek against her skin for a moment and let her breathe.
Then she laughs, and it is the most wrecked, breathless, delighted sound I have ever heard in my life, muffled against the back of her wrist, her shoulders shaking slightly with it, and I feel it land somewhere deep under my ribs and take up permanent residence.
I lift my head and look at her. She’s staring up at the ceiling with her forearm still resting across her face, her chest heaving slightly, and she says, in a voice that is thoroughly and satisfyingly ruined, “Oh my God.”
“Yeah?” I say.
She moves her arm and looks down at me, her eyes glassy and bright all at once, and says nothing for a moment. She doesn’t need to.
God, I love that laugh.The thought arrives without fanfare and sits in my chest as though it belongs there, and I don’t examine it too closely right now. I’ll do that later, when I can afford to sit with it properly. For now, I just let it be.
She reaches for me, her hand finding my face, pulling me up to her, and I go willingly, settling over her, and she kisses me with a softness that is somehow more undoing than everything that came before it. Her hands smooth up my back, tracing the lines of muscle, and she pulls back just far enough to look at me, her eyes dark and certain.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hey,” I say back.
She smiles at me softly, giving me a gentle, reassuring nod, and it is all the confirmation I need. I reach over the edge of the bed to where my jeans are pooled on the floor, fish my wallet out of the back pocket, and pull out the foil packet, and she watches me with a grateful expression that I feel deep inside me. I tearthe foil with my teeth, and she watches with unabashed curiosity as I roll it over my cock, and when I settle back over her, she reaches up without hesitation and pulls me down to her mouth again.
I pull back, looking into her eyes, my cock pressing against her pussy, both of us panting, knowing that once we do this, there’s no going back. But she gives me a beautiful smile and another simple nod.
