Page 128 of Bend

I start to make some smart-ass comment, mostly because apparently that’s what I do when a man looks at me like he wants to fucking devour me.

Draygon’s hand catches my chin first.

“Don’t.”

His mouth covers mine again before I can argue, then starts working lower.

My jaw and throat.

The center of my chest.

He takes his time, dropping kisses over my skin as he sinks down in front of me, hands sliding along my hips until his fingers catch the waistband of my black leggings.

My breath catches when he looks up at me.

Dark hair falling across his forehead. Tattoos covering his arms. Those deep brown eyes locked onto mine from his knees like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

Fuck.

He slowly works the leggings down my thighs, kissing every new inch of skin he exposes along the way.

I brace one hand against the wall while he taps my ankle, helping me step free of one leg and then the other. My white sneakers follow, tossed somewhere beside the bed without either of us giving a shit where they land.

Then he settles back on his knees, and just looks at me.

The kind of look that makes my thighs press together without permission.

“Draygon.”

His hands slide up the backs of my legs, steady and warm, stopping at my hips and he leans in.

His eyes holding mine as he flattens his tongue, and runs it over the thin fabric of my panties, slow enough that my entire body reacts.

A shudder tears through me and my head falls back against the wall.

There.

That quiet little sound he makes tells me he felt it.

He pays attention to everything. Every breath and twitch.

Every time my fingers tighten against his shoulder.

There’s something almost unfair about the patience of it. He touches me like he has nowhere else to be, like figuring out exactly what makes me lose control is the only thing that matters right now.

His tongue presses harder, flattening against the damp cotton, and I feel the heat of his breath seeping through, teasing the swollen lips beneath.

“You’re already soaked for me,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, each word a promise.

I arch into his touch, a whimper escaping my lips as his tongue finds the seam of my panties and begins to trace slow, deliberate circles.

The fabric stretches, then gives, and he slips it aside with a deliberate tug, exposing me to the cool air of the room.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his gaze locked on my opening, “so fucking pretty and wet, just waiting for my mouth.”

He lowers his head, and the first hot stroke of his tongue laps over my clit, firm and unhurried. I gasp, my hips jerking upward, and his hands slide up my thighs to grip my hips, holding me steady.

“Oh god,” I moan softly.