His smile is wicked. Wolfish. A predator about to feast. "Keep telling yourself that."
He hooks his fingers in my underwear and drags it down my legs.
Then he spreads my thighs wide with his hands—wider than I've ever been spread—and stares at my exposed pussy like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
Heat floods my face. "Don't?—"
I try to close my legs, shame crashing over me, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me open. Exposed. Vulnerable in a way I've never let myself be.
"Don't hide from me." His breath ghosts over my swollen flesh, and I shiver violently. "Not anymore. Not ever again. I want to see all of you."
He leans forward and drags his tongue from my entrance to my clit in one long, slow, devastating stroke.
My head falls back.
My fingers tighten in his hair until I must be hurting him.
A sound rips out of me—half moan, half sob—and I feel him smile against my most sensitive flesh.
"That's it." He licks again, even slower, savoring me like I'm the finest thing he's ever tasted. "Let me hear you. Let me hear every sound you've been holding back for all these years."
He buries his face between my thighs, and my world dissolves.
His tongue is relentless.
He licks into me like he's been starving for this, like tasting me is the only thing keeping him alive.
He finds my clit and circles it, teasing, never giving me quite enough pressure, keeping me right on the edge.
I'm writhing on his desk. Grinding against his face. Making sounds I've never heard come out of my own mouth.
"Please—" The word tears out of me before I can stop it.
He pulls back enough to speak, his lips glistening with me. "Please what? Tell me what you need."
"I need—" I choke on the words. Can't say them. Can't admit what I want from the man who's ruined my life.
"Say it." His tongue flicks my clit—quick, light, nowhere near enough. "Say it, Liberty."
"Make me come." The confession rips out of me like something dying. "Please, Elias. Please make me come."
He groans against my flesh like my begging is better than any touch.
Then he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, slides two fingers inside me, and crooks them against a spot I didn't even know I had.
I come screaming his name.
The orgasm crashes through me in brutal waves, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
I'm shaking, sobbing, clenching around his fingers so hard I must be hurting him, and I don't care.
Tears stream down my face because it's too much—it's all too much—and I hate how good it feels.
He doesn't stop.
He works me through the aftershocks with devastating gentleness, his tongue soft against my oversensitive flesh.
His fingers keep moving slow and deep, drawing out every last tremor until I'm boneless. Destroyed.
