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The question makes my pussy clench. "Yes."

He kisses higher. Closer to where I need him. His breath ghosts over my sensitive skin.

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," he murmurs. "I've never done this before. I want to learn what you like."

Permission to speak. Permission to guide him. Permission to have preferences that matter.

Cole never asked. Never cared. Would get angry if I tried to redirect him during sex. Would accuse me of being demanding, ungrateful or difficult to please.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Gabriel looks up at me. "For what?"

"For asking. For wanting to know." I swallow hard. "Cole would get angry if I told him he was doing something wrong. Would shout at me. Tell me I was being difficult."

His jaw tightens. His hands grip my thighs harder.

"I'm not Cole," he says. "And you're allowed to tell me what you want. What feels good. What doesn't. I want you to. Understand?"

I nod. Can't speak past the lump in my throat. He spreads my thighs wider, and settles between them. Looks at my pussy like he's memorizing it.

Then he leans down and licks.

One long, slow stroke from my entrance to my clit.

I gasp. My hips jerk off the bed involuntarily.

He does it again. And again. His tongue is warm, and definitely inexperienced. He's trying to do everything at once, circling and licking and pressing without any real rhythm or focus.

But fuck, it's working.

My back arches. My hands fist in the sheets. The pleasure builds sharp and immediate even though his technique is messy. Maybe because his technique is messy. Because he's clearly figuring it out as he goes. Because every stroke is him learning what makes me gasp or moan or grip the sheets harder.

He circles my clit. Too hard at first, almost painful, then softer when I make a small sound. He experiments with different pressures, different patterns, watching my reactions to learn what I like.

"That—" I breathe. "Right there. That's good."

He does it again. Exactly what I just said I liked. Listens instead of ignoring me.

My free hand flies to my mouth. I bite down on my knuckles to muffle the moan that threatens to wake the entire motel. He keeps going. Keeps licking, sucking and exploring every fold. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

I'm going to come. Already. Embarrassingly fast. But I can't help it. Can't slow down the pleasure building in my core. His tongue flicks against my clit. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Then he sucks it into his mouth and—

"Oh god—" I bite down harder on my hand. My thighs shake violently. My pussy clenches around nothing.

So close. Right on the fucking edge. Just need a little more…

But suddenly I need more than his mouth. Need to be filled. Need him inside me making us one person instead of two separate bodies.

"Gabriel, please," I can barely speak. "Please, I need… I need your cock inside me."

He pulls back. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look fully black.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks. His voice is rough. Raw.

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Please." I'm begging now. Don't even care. "I need you inside me. Need to feel you."

"Paige," He hesitates. "Are you sure? I've never… This would be my first time. And you just left an abusive relationship and I don't want you to regret—"