I press a kiss to the spot behind her ear, and she sucks in a shaky inhale. My lips skim to the place where her neck meets her shoulder. I bite gently and she whimpers. And then, I slideher lacy underwear to the side and my fingers slip into her wetness. I work her slow.
Deliberate circles, spreading her slickness over her clit until she’s trembling against the wall. Every few strokes I dip back down, slipping just inside her entrance before dragging back up.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
“Because you’re torturing me.”
I press harder. Fingers flat against her, grinding in slow, firm presses, and her head drops forward between her arms.
“He touched you tonight.” I kiss below her ear. “His hand on your thigh. Right here.” My palm slides down and I push inside her, and she gasps, her back arching against my chest. “Did it feel like this?”
“No. Nothing feels like you.”
I curl my fingers and her knees almost buckle. I catch her with my other arm, wrapping it across her stomach, pinning her to me while I work her open. Every stroke deliberate, designed to take her apart piece by piece.
“Good,” I say against her throat. “Remember that.”
When I pull away, she whines at the loss. But then I’m back on her clit, which is slick and swollen under my touch. I alternate circles and pressure, then the slow push inside that makes her clench around me and whisper my name like it’s the only word she knows.
“That’s right, Genevieve. It’smyname on your lips.”
She’s close. Her thighs are trembling, her breathing is choppy, and her fingers are scraping against the stone like she’s trying to hold on to something solid. I pull my hand away again.
“No,” she says.“Fuck.”
I turn her around to face me, pressing her back againstthe ivy. Her eyes are wild, her lips swollen, her chest heaving. The teal dress is bunched at her hips, and she looks messy, and perfect, andmine. I hold her gaze while I bring my fingers to my mouth and taste her.
Her lips part, the most beautiful pink flushing up her neck and across her cheeks.
And then I sink to my knees.
Her breath stutters. “Lance.”
“Quiet.” I press a kiss to her knee. Then higher, my mouth dragging up the inside of her thigh, and she grabs my shoulders for balance. I take my time. Tasting every inch of skin as I push the dress higher. The soft spot above her knee that makes her fingers dig into me. The faint bruise on her hip from last night, already turning purple, and I press my lips to it like an apology and a brand at the same time.
“Someone could see,” she breathes.
“Then you’d better not make a sound.”
The sight of her looking down at me, hair falling around her face, bottom lip caught between her teeth, is something I’ll carry with me into every moment for the rest of my life.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drag them over her legs. She steps out of them, and I tuck them into my jacket pocket without breaking eye contact.
Her mouth falls open.
“You’re not getting those back.”
I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh, reveling in the taste of her skin, and then I trail higher, gripping just under her ass, spreading her open. One of her hands threads into my hair, the other braces against the wall, and when I lick up the length of her pussy, the sound she makes is so brokenand beautiful that I have to grip her tighter to keep us both upright.
She’s already so swollen from my touch that every stroke of my tongue makes her body jolt. I seal my lips around her clit and she bites back a cry, her fingers twisting in my strands.
I drag it out, tasting everything my fingers just felt, and her knees nearly give. I grip her thighs harder, holding her up, and do it again. Learning the rhythm that makes her gasp, the pressure that makes her moan, the angle that makes her pull my hair so hard it stings.
“Oh my God.” Her head tips back against the ivy. “Oh my God, I can’t…”
“You can.” I slide two fingers back inside her while my tongue circles her clit, and her hips buck against my face. “You will.”
She’s dripping down my chin, and I groan against her because I will never get enough of this. Her hips roll, chasing my mouth, and I let her. Let her grind against me, let her pull my hair, let her take exactly what she needs. Because this isn’t about me. This is about showing her what it’s like to be wanted by someone who pays attention. Someone who feels the tremble in her thighs before she does and adjusts. Slows down. Draws it out until she’s begging.
