Page 111 of Ricardo

I don't answer.

I can't.

But I don't have to.

I grab my legs under the knees, and I pull them open for him, holding them wide, my body laid bare for him to do with as he pleases. The position is lewd. Vulnerable. And it makes me feel wild. Untamed. And so turned on I can barely breathe.

Triumph and pride flash in his eyes.

"Like this?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"Precisamente," he murmurs.

And then he lowers his head, and the world as I know it ceases to exist.

There is no more Harrison. There is no more shame.

There is only Ricardo and his sinful, wicked, glorious tongue.

He starts with one slow lick from my entrance to my clit.

A strangled gasp escapes my lips.

My hips buck off the pillow.

He does it again, this time a little slower, a little more deliberate, as if he is savoring the taste of me.

Then he does it again.

And again.

Each lick is a slow drag that sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. He is building me up, stoking the fire inside me until I am a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, my hands fisted in the blankets, my head thrown back, my back arched.

He is not in a hurry.

He is enjoying this. Enjoying me.

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my clit, then circles it with the tip of his tongue.

When he sucks it into his mouth, amping up the intensity suddenly, I cry out in shocked pleasure.

"Ricardo!" I gasp.

He doesn't stop. He sucks harder, then gentler, then harder again, a maddening rhythm that has me hovering right on the edge of something big.

Then he lets my clit go and laps at me with the flat of his tongue, lapping up every drop of my arousal.

It's filthy. It's depraved.

And it is the most incredible thing I have ever felt.

He slides one finger inside me, and I moan, my inner muscles clamping down on him. He adds a second, stretching me, filling me, and I can feel myself getting closer, and closer, and closer to the edge.

"Please," I beg, not even knowing what I'm begging for. "Please, Ricardo. Please."

He knows, though. He always knows.

"I have been dreaming of this," he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. "Of tasting you."