And this time, he didn’t make me beg.
He thrust inside me all the way to the hilt, and I arched to make sure he didn’t slip free. Not that he was going to…he was so,sobig, lodged inside me, my pussy clenching around him.
“Fuck yes,” he breathed. He curled his top leg to get between mine, spreading me open, and his hand came down to pull mylegs wide to hook over the back of his knee. “God, your pussy feels so good, Daniela.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His hips rolled, setting a slow, steady rhythm, filling me deep. “Missed this. Missed you.”
I could’ve responded with snark. Maybe I should have. But I wanted to explain…wanted him to know. “Sawyer?—”
“I know.” He pressed his lips to my jaw. “I know you were busy.”
“But I should’ve…” I had to stop talking, cried out. His arm was over my leg now, his hand between my legs again…touching my clit, ohfuck. “Should’ve texted?—”
“You don’t owe me a thing, baby,” he purred. “Well…other than an orgasm. You wanna come for me?”
"Yes," I breathed. "God, yes?—"
"Good." His fingers moved in slow circles and his hips kept that devastating rhythm and I stopped trying to finish any thought I'd started. “Gonna keep you like this all morning…coming on my cock and my fingers and my tongue. You like that?”
“Oh my—oh mygod—please?—”
"Please what?" His hips didn't slow. Not even slightly.
"Please don't stop?—"
"Wasn't planning on it." His fingers moved faster and I grabbed the edge of the mattress. "You feel so good like this. So fucking perfect." His mouth at my neck. "Come for me. Right now."
"Sawyer—"
"Now, Daniela."
I came.
Hard and fast, the way he'd told me to, my whole body clenching around him, a sound tearing out of me that I didn't bother trying to muffle. He worked me through every second ofit—fingers relentless, hips still moving, his voice low and steady in my ear.
"Good girl." He pressed his mouth to the back of my neck. "That's it. Give me another."
I didn’t know what he was doing. Magic? Maybe. I’d never just…come on command before.
"I can't?—"
"You can." He pulled out.
I made a sound of protest.
He flipped me onto my back.
I blinked up at him—morning light, dark eyes, that medal he always wore swinging forward—and then he had my legs over his shoulders and his mouth on me before I'd finished processing the transition.
It felt like my whole body left the bed when I thrust toward him.
"Sawyer—” I choked out.
He didn't answer. Just worked me with his tongue, focused and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do and I was the most interesting problem he'd ever been given. My fingers found his hair. He let me pull. Kept going.
"I'm—I'm already?—"
