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"You better."

I shift forward, getting up on my knees, and I carefully position myself above his face. My thighs bracket his head and I lower myself slowly as he opens his mouth and tastes me.

I’m so aroused and soaked from what I’ve already done to him. It’s making me crazy.

He drags his tongue through my folds with a long, slow stroke that makes my thighs clench around his head. I let out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in my chest for hours. My hands find the headboard, steadying myself.

"Again," I say. "Just like that. You okay?"

"Oh, I'm more than okay," he says and then he does it again, slower, pressing his tongue flat against me and dragging upward, ending at my clit with a deliberate curl. My hips jerk and I feel a rush of liquid from between my thighs. He seals his mouth on me and sucks gently. It feels so good and I make a sound that goes straight through me.

"Fuck, Gage."

He works me with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused pressure, finding the rhythm that I like. My thighs tremble on both sides of his head. He dips his tongue inside my entrance, tasting me deeper. I gasp and push my hips down harder.

"Right there! Don't stop! Harder!"

He doesn’t stop. He fucks me with his tongue, then sucks my clit again. Then he traces circles around it while I squirm above him. My fingers grip the headboard so hard I hear the wood creak, and my breathing goes ragged and uneven. I’m close, and the trembling in my legs intensifies.

"Look at me," he says, and I open my eyes and look at him with an expression that is raw and open and desperate.

He presses his tongue flat against my clit, holding it there, letting me move against it. I grind down in tight circles, using his mouth exactly how I need to. My head falls back as I come.

It hits me like a convulsion. My whole body seizes, thighs clamping down around his head, and I let out a sound that’s part his name and part curse and part something wordless all at once. I keep pulsing against his tongue, a rush of wetness flooding him. He keeps licking, gentler now, drawing out every last wave until my thighs relax and I sag forward against the headboard.

"Okay," I breathe. "Okay. I'm okay."

I lift myself off him with shaky legs and collapse beside him on the pillow, careful not to hurt him. My hair is stuck to my forehead and I feel like I’ve just been taken apart and put back together.

I turn my head to look at him. "You've got…" I gesture vaguely at my own chin.

"You're welcome," he says, licking his lips, and we both laugh.

We lie there for a while, not talking, just breathing. His hand finds mine on the mattress between us, fingers lacing through mine. I think about all the nights I’d stood in my kitchen wondering what it would be like to have him here like this, and how none of my fantasies came close to reality.

"You know," he says, "I'm probably going to heal in about six hours."

I turn my head and look at him, one eyebrow raising.

"So if you wanted to do that again…?"

"Sleep first."

"I wasn't suggesting…"

"You were absolutely suggesting. And I'm saying "sleep first." I squeeze his hand.

"Then maybe we can revisit the suggestion."

I pull a sheet up over both of us and curl against his right side, my head on his shoulder and my breath warm against his chest. I feel his heartbeat slow, settling into something steady and calm.

"Gage?"

"Yeah?"

I’m quiet for a moment.

"I liked taking care of you."