Page 98 of Haunt Me, Maybe

Heat flooded my core. Mission fucking succeeded. At least until my body reminded me that his penis inside it would not be a good idea.

“I don’t know if I can⁠—”

“Shh.” Wes kissed the corner of my mouth. “Tell me what you can take. What you want.”

I bit my lip harder. “I want…you to make me feel good.”

His smile widened. “Like this?”

His fingers moved back down to graze the inside of my thigh, nowhere near where I ached most. I shook my head, beyond frustrated and needy, and my hips lifted toward his hand before I could stop them. His answering chuckle was dark.

“What about this?”

I felt his thumb press into the crease where my thigh met my hip; close—so close—but still not touching me where I needed. Still not giving me what I suddenly craved more than air. I whined. It was small and desperate and embarrassing, but I was past the point of caring.

“No,” I gasped. “Not like that. I want you to…” Dammit. Words evaded me.

“Make you come,” Wes prompted. “You can say it. Tell me you want me to make you come, Aven.”

My entire face was on fire. My pulse roared. But the words tumbled out anyway.

“I want you to make me come.”

He groaned as if that one sentence ruined him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.”

He eased my shirt up and off, then tugged my panties down my legs with the same careful slowness. Once I was bare, he settled me on my back among the blankets and lay between my thighs without pressing his weight down. The quilts cocooned us, trapping heat.

“Tell me if anything hurts too much,” he said, gaze fixed on mine. “Or if you want me to stop.”

Kissing down my throat, he moved lower. Across my collarbone, then lingering over every faint mark he left last night. Small, open-mouthed kisses that soothed more than they teased. When he reached my stomach, he paused, palms flat on my hips.

“You’re still swollen here,” he said, with obvious approval, and pressed the lightest kiss above my mound. “Still tender from me.”

He dragged his lips lower, leaving deliberate licks along the top of my thigh. Never quite touching where I was most sensitive. No. He worshiped the places that were still raw from him and soothed them with gentle suction. Every kiss felt like a promise. Every breath against me felt like devotion.

Wes’s tongue moved in slow, languid strokes, finally circling my clit with light flicks before flattening to lap at me in long passes. He never pressed hard enough to overwhelm the tenderness, and my hips lifted greedily toward his mouth.

The coolness of his touch contrasted with the feverish heat building inside me, and I threaded my fingers through his hair as the pleasure built in slow waves.

There was no frantic climb. No desperate rush. It was a slow ache that spread from my core outward, until my whole body shook with it. My hips rocked in helpless circles against his lips. He hummed in approval, and the vibration traveled straight through me, coaxing another whimper from my throat.

One of his hands pushed on my thigh to hold me open, the thumb playing beneath where his tongue worked. His other hand stayed flat on my hip, steadying me like he knew how close I was to unraveling. When I came, it was in shuddering waves that rolled instead of crashed.

A low moan slipped out as the pleasure crested and spilled, leaving me trembling and boneless beneath him. Tears slipped down my temples again at how safe I felt. How completely loved. From how he’d taken every bruised inch of me and turned it into worship.

Wes kissed his way back up my body, lingering over the curve of my stomach and the sensitive underside of my breasts. When he reached my mouth again, I tasted myself on his tongue; sweet-salty and intimate. He lay beside me and made to pull me into his arms, but I wasn’t finished with him.

I inched my hand down his stomach until my fingers curled around him, hard and thick and hot in my palm. The head was already slippery.

“Aven—” His hips jerked into my grip.

“Let me,” I whispered. “Please.”

His groan sounded tortured, but he didn’t stop me. I stroked him slowly with long, firm pulls from base to tip, and watched his jaw clench. His eyes flutter shut. When I leaned down and licked the head, he hissed through his teeth.

I took him deeper, one hand working the base in a steady rhythm while my mouth focused on maintaining suction. His hips rocked shallowly into my touch, and his breathing turned ragged.