Then he withdraws his fingers, kisses his way down my stomach with slow, deliberate intent, and settles between my thighs.
He’s mapping me. That’s what it feels like—his mouth moving like he’s memorizing geography, like he has time now and intends to use every second of it.
When he finally puts his mouth on me, the sound he makes vibrates through my entire body.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he rasps. “Sweet and warm and—” He groans again, like he can’t help it. “Been wanting this for so long.”
Then he stops holding back.
His mouth closes over my clit, sucking and licking with filthy, dedicated focus. Two thick fingers slide back inside, curling perfectly while he devours me like a man who has been starving and has finally, finally been given permission to eat.
“Ride my face,” he growls against me. “I want to feel you. Use me.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, hips rolling against his mouth as the pleasure builds in hot, pulsing waves. He doesn’t let up—sucking my clit, working his fingers deeper, making sounds against me that are as obscene as they are devastating.
“So wet,” he murmurs between long licks. “So perfect. I’m never coming up for air.”
He flattens his tongue, licking me in broad, slow strokes before zeroing in again, sucking hard while his fingers thrust faster. My thighs start to shake around his head. I’m close, so close, and he knows it the way he seems to know everything about me.
“Come on my tongue, baby,” he growls. “I’ve earned this. Give it to me.”
The orgasm crashes into me. I cry out his name, thighs clamping around his shoulders as I come apart on his face. He moans like he’s the one falling apart, licking me through every pulse and aftershock, refusing to pull away until I’m trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his head.
When he finally lifts up, lips shiny, eyes blazing with equal parts satisfaction and devotion, I feel the full weight of what just happened settle over the room.
He looks at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
When he stands and strips off the rest of his clothes, I forget how to breathe.
Hockey has carved him into a shape that shouldn’t be real. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms corded with muscle from years of doing violent things to other men’s bodies for sport. His abs flex as he shoves his jeans and boxer briefs down in one motion, and then I see all of him.
Oh.
Oh.
His cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip—bigger than I expected, even after feeling him grinding against me, and I’ve been thinking about that for longer than I care to admit. The sight makes my core clench with a need so sharp it’s almost embarrassing.
“Jesus, Bennett,” I breathe, unable to stop staring. Because I’m not stopping. I’ve waited a long time for this view, and I’mtaking every second of it. “You’ve been hiding that under your gear this whole time?”
His expression shifts. Satisfaction, heat, and underneath both of them—pleasure. Like being wanted by me specifically means more than he’s saying.
It should. It does.
He reaches for his wallet without looking away from me, tears the condom open, and rolls it down with steady hands. Comes back to me like there was never any question of where he was going.
He settles between my thighs, the blunt heat of him nudging against my entrance.
And then he stops.
Bennett braces one hand beside my head and looks down at me. He’s stripped down to an expression I’ve never seen on his face before, one that would have been invisible behind his walls six weeks ago.
“This is real,” he says. Not a question.
“This is real,” I confirm.
Then he pushes inside me slowly, inch by devastating inch, and we both go completely still.
“Gisele.” My name in his mouth, wrecked and wondering. His forehead drops to mine. “You feel—”
