“Can I…?” I whisper, my fingers hovering at the waistband of his boxers.
He nods, eyes never leaving mine. “Fuck, Violet. Anything you want.”
I slide the fabric down his thighs and wrap my fingers around him. He’s hard and thick and impossibly smooth in my palm, and the groan that tears from his throat sends a thrill through me. I’ve never seen Rowan Wolfe like this, with his head tipped back and his breath coming in ragged pulls. It’s intoxicating.
I watch his face, memorizing every expression. The way his jaw tightens, how his lips part with each breath, the flutter of his eyelashes when I change my rhythm.
His hips buck slightly as my thumb circles the sensitive tip. “Violet,” he moans, his voice strained.
My heart races as I meet his eyes, finding courage in his gaze.
“I want to…” My voice trails off, cheeks flushing with heat. I’ve never done this before, but right now, with him, I want everything.
His brow furrows, noticing my hesitation. “Violet, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to taste you,” I whisper, the confession making me tremble. “I’ve just never…”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something darker, hungrier. His hand cups my cheek, thumb dragging against my lower lip.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, already shifting down. He adjusts, sliding until he’s flat on his back, and I find myself straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs.
“Show me how?”
“Just go slow,” he murmurs. “You can stop anytime.”
I brace my hands on his thighs, relishing the hard muscle tensing beneath my fingers. I lower myself, heart thrumming, and take him in my hand again. He pulses in my grip. I stroke him a few times, watching as his hips flex, forcing him deeper into my hand.
I lean down to kiss the tip, savoring the heady taste of him. The contact makes him twitch, a curse muttered under his breath. I ease down farther, taking him past my lips, slow and careful, letting him fill my mouth inch by inch. I hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue the way I think might feel good.
His hand moves to grip hair, not controlling, just guiding.
“Just like that,” he breathes, watching me with hooded eyes.
I grow bolder, taking him deeper, learning his body through every gasp and tensed muscle. His direction is gentle—a soft tug of hair when I find a rhythm he likes, whispered praise that makes me flush with pride.
“God, Violet,” he groans, his head falling back. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice spurs me on. I hollow mycheeks around him, relishing the way his thickness fills my mouth.
I try to take him deeper, but his size is overwhelming. My throat constricts and my eyes water, but the moan that falls from his lips tells me I’m doing something right.
His hand slides to my cheek. “Breathe, baby,” Rowan murmurs. “Take your time.”
I do, drawing in a shaky breath as I let him slip out, my lips glistening. I glance up to find him watching me, pupils blown wide. He looks utterly wrecked.
“Your mouth was made for my cock,” he says, his thumb smoothing across my lower lip.
The praise makes me bold. I lick him from base to tip, circling the head with my tongue, tasting the salt and heat of him. His hand fists the cushion, veins standing out in his arm. I take him in again, deeper this time, and flatten my tongue under the weight of him. His hips jerk up before he holds himself back.
“Easy, Larkin,” he warns. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”
I moan, heat rolling through me, and when I lift my eyes through my lashes, his answering groan is all warning.
Suddenly, his hands move and his fingers tangle into my hair, palms pressing against my cheeks. He tilts my head up just enough to control the pace.
His voice drops even lower, rougher. “Violet, if you don’t want my cum down your throat, you need to tap my thigh right now. Because I’m close. So fucking close.”
