"What?"
"You heard me."
I’ve spent years of being the man that every other man answers to, and this woman is standing in front of me like she built the room. Like she owns everything in it. My heartbeat gives me away under her palms, and there is nothing I can do about that.
I almost want to laugh.
I don't.
My hands go to my collar. I unbutton the shirt slowly, watching her face. One button, then the next, my eyes neverleaving hers. I want to see every flicker. Every tell. Every moment her composure costs her something. I want to know exactly what I do to her the way she has always known, without trying, what she does to me.
The shirt falls.
She looks at me with open hunger and doesn't bother to hide it.
That look. The heat in it, the want. I have never been undone by a fucking look.
I am undone by this one.
This isn't just sex.
I don't say it yet. I'll say it when I have to, when we're standing at the edge of something irreversible and the words need to exist between us. But I am thinking it now with every part of me that has never been patient about anything.
I am done being careful.
I step into her space, close enough to feel her breath hitch. My hands come up, framing her face, holding her exactly where I want her.
I don’t rush it. I take my time… Then I claim her mouth with mine.
She meets me with everything she has. Nails raking down my back, her body arching into mine like she has been waiting for this as long as I have. I lift her up and carry her to the bed. My mouth finds her throat, her collarbone, the soft skin behind her ear.
When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, I pull back just enough to look at her.
I have thought about this. What she'd look like in my bed. I built the image piece by piece over weeks of wanting, withnowhere to put it. The curve of her throat. The flush at her chest. The way her eyes would look when she finally let me have her.
The reality of her is better than anything I imagined.
Because she wants this. Wants me. And that knowledge does something to me that I am not prepared for.
"I've thought about this," I tell her, my voice stripped of everything careful. "Every night since you came here. What you'd look like. What you'd sound like. What you'd taste like."
"You've already tasted me in the garden," she whispers, her hips lifting just enough to press against my hand.
I take my time with her. My fingers trace her center, slowly, and I feel the exact moment her breath hitches when I brush too close to the heat between her thighs. She's already wet.
I slide her underwear aside, then drag my thumb up the seam of her, parting her folds just enough to let the cool air kiss her swollen flesh. "That?" I murmur against her skin. "That was just an appetizer."
She shivers. I take my time with her. My lips brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, my hands slide beneath her ass to tilt her up and her clit is already throbbing, already begging, and something feral tightens in my chest at the sight of her like this. Open. Wanting. Mine.
I press my nose against her and inhale. A growl moves through me before I can stop it. " My tongue flicks out, just the tip, tracing the outline of her entrance before dragging up to circle her clit. Once. Twice. Her back arches, and I hear that broken sound tear from her throat, and I stop.
I don't give her what she's chasing. Not yet.
I spread her open with my thumbs, slowly, until she's fully exposed to the cool air. I feel her twitch beneath my hands, andthen I seal my mouth over her. My tongue is flat and broad as I lap from her entrance to her clit in one long, unhurried stroke.
I hum against her, feeling her hips jerk. I let my tongue delve deeper, spearing inside her in slow, deliberate thrusts, curling against her walls before pulling back to swirl around her clit. Relentless. Measured. She cries out, sharp and broken, and I feel the sound in my chest.
I can feel how close she is. Her thighs are trembling, her muscles locking. She's right there.
