Page 106 of One Night with Number Nineteen

A groan rumbles through his chest. “Pages⁠—”

“Yeah,” I murmur, flicking my tongue out to taste him, to tease the flat oval of his nipple. To nip at it, making him jump, his hands clenching on my shoulders. “I’ve written pages and pages about you.”

“You have?”

“I have,” I say, dragging my tongue down his chest, tracing the ridges on his abdomen, the lines that dip toward his hips. “Pages and pages and—” I nudge the waistband of his underwear down, the springy curls beneath teasing my chin, my nose. “Pages,” I finish as I give the material one final tug and his cock springs free.

I wrap my fingers around the hard length of him and stroke.

He groans. “Will you let me read them?”

I’m mid-bend, my lips mere millimeters from the head of his cock, a glistening bead of precum right there.

I flick out my tongue, lap up the salty drop, loving the way his dick twitches, his body jerks, his voice goes raspy as he shouts my name.

“Yes,” I say, dragging my mouth along his shaft, flicking out my tongue time and again, tasting, teasing, worshipping him. “Of course, I’ll let you read them.” I part my lips⁠—

“Lainey!”

Take him deep, so deep his hard cock is bumping the back of my throat.

I swallow him down as I stroke him, as my free hand cups and massages his balls, as I feel him grow harder and thicker, as each inch I take in my mouth makes me more and more desperate to have him inside me.

To let him stretch me wide.

To fuck me hard.

To—

“Pages,” he rasps. “Baby.”

I suck him deeper.

He growls. “Lanes⁠—”

I stroke him harder.

Faster. Wetter. Deeper.

Until his hands go beneath my shoulders and he yanks me up, breaking the suction of my mouth with a soft pop. I start to protest but then he’s rucking up the lace of my nightgown, bunching it up around my waist.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to have this pussy,” he mutters, his hands tracing along the insides of my thighs. He slides them in, dips his fingers into the slickness of my desire.

“So have it,” I order.

“Oh, I will.” He leans in and blows lightly. “I just need to do this first.”

“Do what⁠—”

He kisses me.

Not on the lips.

Or not the lips on my face.

He buries his in my pussy, licking and sucking, circling my clit, shoving one blunt-tipped finger into the heat of me. My insides convulse, trying to keep him inside even as I want more, need more—more fingers. No, his cock.

“Sawyer, I⁠—”