Page 86 of Bottles & Blades

It’s not until he’s kneeling between my legs that I realize he’s managed to part them without me realizing, part them so I’m fully on display for him. I wait for my embarrassment to kick in, for the urge to slam my legs together to take over.

But…that doesn’t happen.

Maybe it’s the gentle way he’s touching me. Maybe it’s the patience in those blue eyes. Maybe it’s that with each slow stroke up and down along the insides of my thighs, he draws a little higher.

Or maybe it’s that he’s slowly bending, slowly lowering his head.

Nope.

It’s none of those.

Because the moment his mouth touches me?—

I’m not thinking of being exposed or vulnerable or embarrassed.

I’m…on fire.

He trails his tongue through my center, tracing it along my labia. It’s gentle and I jump at the intense sensation, but as soon as I settle, he increases the pressure, the speed, his hands coming to the tops of my thighs, holding me steady, his shoulders keeping my legs wide so he can devour me.

I moan softly when he hits a spot that feels more incredible than the rest.

“There?” he asks against me.

“Y-yes,” I rasp, hips lifting, searching out the purchase of his mouth.

But he’s in no hurry, just continues his slow and steady assault of me.

“Here?” he asks a moment later after my gasp has filled the air.

“Yes,” I breathe as he continues. “Oh, God,” I groan, hips jerking.

A flash of a wicked grin before his head dips back down. “Yeah,there,” he murmurs against me.

Then there’s no more talking.

He focuses on all the glorious sensitive spots he’s found, and I can’t form words—or can’t form anything aside from “Oh, God!” and “Like that!” and “Please,oh God, Jean-Mi.”

His tongue is masterful, sliding through me, working in tandem with his lips and teeth.

He teases my labia, suckles at my clit, uses his fingers to dip inside me.

All together it’s better than anything my vibrator has ever given me.

And it doesn’t take long for me to feel it—to know it’s coming, pleasure coiling tight inside me, readying itself to explode.

“Jean-Mi,” I say, or maybe beg. My hands are in his hair, and I’m pushing myself against his mouth, seeking purchase, seekingmore, seeking my orgasm that’s hovering close, just out of range.

Something he seems to sense because he grips my ass, increasing the friction, the pressure, the suction. Slipping that teasing finger further inside me. It slides in and out, in and out, in and?—

“Oh, God!” I moan, hips bucking, back arching.

“That’s it, buttercup,” he growls against me. “Let it come.”

“I—”

But I don’t finish.

Because he’s doubling down on his movements.

---