Gage trails hot kisses up the inside of my thigh, but when he reaches my overheated sex, he blows softly, driving me mad. I mewl and squirm and writhe, but he evades me, pulling back so that only the hot pants of every breath fan me.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I growl, shamelessly trying to push my hips back into him, but he dodges away with a low chuckle that makes me want to turn around and hit him, knock him down and climb on top of his face.
God.I have no idea where that thought came from. The mental image should scare the hell out of me, but I’m not scared. I’m so far from being scared or uncomfortable that it’s astounding.
“Please, Gage,’ I pant, leaning back, searching for him.
“Please, what, darlin’? You’re gonna have to ask me. I never was much good at reading minds.”
“You know what I need. You know what I want. You know it better than I know it.”
“Doubtful. I want you to tell me. What do you need?”
“I need you to make me come. Please. I don’t care how.Just do it.”
“You know, I was gonna see if I could make you come without even touching you. But since you asked me so nicely…”
His mouth is on me in a second, attacking, dining, diving in like the world is going to end and he’s going to be judged on this final act of pleasure. I arch away from him with a gasp, on instinct, trying to get away from his lashing tongue and his amazing hot mouth. He grips my thighs and tugs me back into him, showing no mercy. He plunges his tongue inside of me and fucks me hard with it before he pulls out and dances over my folds to suck my clit.
That little bud is so sensitive that I arch away from him again with a low whimper of pain and pleasure all mixed up together. My knees shake so hard that they nearly knock together, but still he pulls me back. He lashes my clit with his tongue while he brings his hand up. He gives me absolutely no warning before he plunges two fingers inside of me. I’m soaked and he slips in easy, filling me.
The sensations swimming through me are so strong, so heady, so wild, all I can do is clutch the blankets between my claw-like fingers and hold on. I buck and wail and thrust my hips back into his face and he fucks me with his mouth and his hand, taking no prisoners.
After another half a minute of the onslaught, I give in and lose myself.
I come hard, the climax crashing over me, spiking up from my toes, and landing straight at my core. The pleasure blossoms in my belly and floods my veins until I’m hot and burning. Until I’m nothing but liquid sensation and wild abandon.
I scream and thrash on the bed, fighting him, bucking with him, riding out each wave as his fingers fuck up into me over and over again, as his tongue and hot mouth turn me to ash and resurrect me, reborn as something else, a creature that I neverthought I could be. A woman. A woman capable of pleasure. Capable of confronting her demons, facing them head-on, and coming out the other side.
Because I’m not sorry.
I don’t want to take it back.
I feel no fear and I feel no shame.
When the pleasure turns to pain as my clit becomes oversensitive, Gage’s fingers still and he pulls out gently, smearing a trail of liquid arousal down my thighs before I collapse on the bed. I use the last little bit of strength I have left to turn myself over and face him.
His gaze locks with mine as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, almost embarrassingly shiny with my juices, as is his chin, and sucks them between his lips. He closes his eyes, savoring it like the taste of me is some exotic fruit he can’t get enough of.
“Fucking delicious,” he says darkly, popping his fingers out noisily.
He stays that way, sitting on his ass, as casual as can be, while I pant and blink away the stars and try and collect the buttery pieces of myself that just shattered all over the bed. All over him. Shattered in a good way. Shattered in the best possible way. In a way I didn’t even know waspossible.
When Gage slides off the bed, I nearly ask him what he’s doing. When he bends to collect his jeans and slips into them with little more than a whisper and the rasp of his zipper being done back up, my eyes bulge and my heart nearly knocks out of my chest.
“What… what are you doing?” I scramble to the edge of the bed and catch myself at the last second. God. I don’t want to look so fucking desperate. I was just asking this man for a divorce an hour ago.
He looks at me funny, his face devoid of expression other than a salting of humor glistening in his eyes. His top lip quirks up. “Getting dressed.”
“I know, but why?” I hate the pleading tone in my voice and snap my mouth shut. I watch him instead, for clues.
Did he not like what we just did? Did I do something wrong? Or does he think I’m too damaged? Maybe he told me to turn around and face the other direction so he wouldn’t have to see that word inked in the crudest way across my stomach. Maybe he couldn’t stand to look at me. Maybe all of this was just… just some kind of pity fuck that he felt he needed to do. I don’t know. I don’t know, but the longer I sit there, the worse the thoughts are. They’re like an avalanche, snowballing over me, consuming me, and burying me alive.
“Stop it. I can see what you’re thinking. Don’t even go there.”
Gage sweeps my dress off the floor and passes it over. I take it with a trembling hand and throw it over my head in the most ungraceful way. I get stuck in it halfway through and I spring up from the bed, only to run straight into a solid wall. Strong, sure hands ease the dress over my head and tug it into place.
After, those hands fall to my shoulders and Gage gently eases me back down to the bed. I could fight him. I want to fight him, but I don’t. My heart is hovering somewhere between myknees and my feet and I can’t force any words I might spit at him past my clogged up throat.
