“Lorenzo.”
“I know what you need.”
“Then give it to me.”
“I decide when.”
He slides through me. Slick. Precise. Building a tension that pools in my thighs and the base of my skull. He reads every shift and shiver and I have nothing left to hide behind. My hips rolling. Climbing. Close.
He pulls back.
“No.” I grab for him. Find his forearm. “Don’t stop.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I hate you. I actually hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I really, really do right now.”
Warmth against my inner thigh. Waiting. Letting the tension ebb just far enough.
Then his mouth. No warning. I can’t see it coming and a moan tears out of me, raw, uncontrolled.
“Fuck.” The word ripped out. My hips rolling against him. His tongue. Flat. Broad. I grab the sheet so hard my knuckles ache.
“How do you know exactly—” The words dissolve.
“I pay attention.”
He works me. Precise. Circling. Direct. Building the tension until my legs won’t hold. I can’t see his face and every sensation’sintensity is doubled because there’s nothing else. Just his voice and the dark.
“I swear if you stop again I will?—”
“You’ll what?”
“I don’t know but it’ll be devastating.”
Close. So close. The edge. Right there.
A sob. Raw. Wrenched out. “Please.” I break on the word. “Lorenzo. Please.”
He pulls back.
“Good girl.” Low. Against my inner thigh.
Heat floods my neck, my chest, the backs of my knees. My hips jerk toward him without permission. Two words and I am shattered and I don’t understand why. Can’t explain it. Can’t make sense of what those words in that voice in this dark just did to me.
“Say that again.”
Silence. He’s tracking it. I can feel it. The same focus he brings to everything, turned on those two words and what they did.
“Earn it.”
I whimper. He rises to his knees. Reaches across me. The nightstand drawer slides open. I catch his wrist.
“I’m on birth control.” Raw. “And I’m clean.”
