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That’s it, I hear. That’s—God, I needed this⁠—

“S…” I suck in a breath. “Surprise.” My voice sounds muffled, distant, even though to him it must be strangely loud.

He digs his fingers down the top of my jeans and pulls, swift and hard, no button, no zipper, no nothing⁠—

“Fuck.” I feel him breathe the word onto me more than I hear it. Because I can’t hear him, the real him, only the everywhere-everything recording of his voice like his mouth is right by my ear. My back has melted flat onto the couch, my arms bent back and skimming the edge, then clutching it, desperate, as my hips and legs are lifted and hooked onto strong shoulders. There’s the brushed touch of a thumb again over the lace, the wet lace, and then…

I choke as the heat of his tongue runs over me.

Yes, the headphones murmur. Good girl.

Something—some sound—I’m doing something, saying something, but I can’t hear it, can’t hear anything besides deep growls and moans and the faint, echoed beat of my own blood in the headphones. A hand slides up my stomach and shirt to palm my breast, roll my aching nipple, even as the warm, sliding, wet rhythm against my clit intensifies.

How am I supposed to last? I wonder vaguely. I can’t⁠—

As if in sync, the growls in the headphones turn to words.

I’m gonna come, baby. You want me to come?

It’s all I need. Greed seizes me. Desperation. I release one hand from the couch edge and clutch for him, his hair, pulling him into me, firmer, harder, and he lets me, doesn’t change doesn’t stop doesn’t slow or speed up, only drags and drags and drags stroke after stroke after long, wet, stroke, and I⁠—

I burst. I let go, grinding into his mouth as a sweet, hard spasm, and then another, and then another, clutches me tight. He slips just the tip of his tongue under the lace and flicks against my clit while his fingers give my nipple one final, firm tug, and I all but collapse again, an aftershock or another orgasm entirely rippling through me.

When it’s over, finally over, I can only slide to the floor. He lets me, easing out of the way and rocking back onto his heels so I can sit with my back against the couch.

“That…” I swallow, and realize I’m still wearing the headphones. I fumble to push them off, feeling clumsy more than sexy. “You…you’re…”

Blue’s eyes are sharper than I’ve ever seen them, looking up at me like that.

“I’m not done,” he says.

CHAPTER 22

BLUE

It’s a good angle, her looking down on me like this. If I weren’t hard as a diamond in a way that’s making crouching painful, I could stay here forever.

“Unless you are,” I add. “Done.”

Slowly, her head moves, side to side.

I rise up an inch, a hand on each of her thighs for balance as much as an excuse to touch her.

“You want me to fuck you, Tink?”

Difficult as it is, I don’t move until she does. “Mhm.” She switches to a slow nod. “Yes.”

“Yes?” I rasp. Starting with mhm isn’t firm enough consent, not for me.

“Yes…” She hesitates. “Please.”

Fuck. That isn’t what I meant; I wasn’t trying to entice her to beg or anything like that.

But I don’t mind hearing it if she is.

I let go of her and stand up.

“Bed,” I say. My mind is swimming, like I’m drunk on the taste of her still clinging to my lips, and I don’t know exactly what I want to do with her now, only that that little couch is not enough space.