Page 77 of Kisses and Paperclips

His arms scooped underneath my ass and back to cradle me into position before he dipped his head and kissed me, kissed me like it was my mouth.

“Don’t even make sense, pretty.” He rasped.

I inhaled a sharp breath because his lips on my throbbing pussy was euphoria. He kissed me again, opening my folds like he’d parted my lips in a kiss. A deep moan escaped him as he savored me.

His tongue appeared, intensifying his kisses as he circled my clit and then sucked my lips into his sexy mouth. My legs spread even wider, surrendering to his gravity and the moment. A wave of heat washes over my skin, traveling down my spine and wrapping around my toes. I sink deeper into the couch, it’s cool softness cradling me while his touch builds warmth everywhere else.

His palms rough in all the right places skim the inside of my thighs, spreading me with the kind of care that feels like reverence.

Then he leans in, dragging his nose slowly along the tender center of me, like he’s memorizing the scent of a place he never planned to forget.

All the nerves bled from my body, slipping away as I was pulled under, carried on waves of pleasure I didn’t have to chase.

I’ve had men do this before.

But it always felt like a detour, an appetizer, something they hurried through on the way to what they really wanted.

But not Julien.

He kissed me like it was the whole damn meal.

Like tasting me was a privilege.

A pleasure for him.

My fingers gripped his head, holding him to me like I needed him to breathe. When his tongue found my spot, my whole body lit up, pleasure flickering beneath my skin like a flame.

A moan slipped from my lips before I could catch it.

I started to move with him, hips rolling on instinct, chasing that rhythm. That edge. That high. I wanted him lost in me…drowning, devouring, not stopping until I was nothing but sensation and sound.

I pulled him deeper, greedy for every bit of what he was giving. My thighs trembled around his shoulders, my breath staggered, my body begging.

Then, he pulled away.

A sharp cry escaped me, raw with disappointment and need. He left me gasping. Needing.

He smiled as he moved over me, his lips shiny from my taste. “You know Ima take care of you, baby.” His eyes lingered on my mouth for a beat, hungry, before he leaned in and kissed me. Hard.

Just as hard as he’d kissed my pussy.

His hand wrapped around my neck, firm and possessive, like he was holding back something wild. Something he couldn’t afford to let loose.

“I want you coming on my dick first,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice low and gravely, the kind of promise that lived somewhere between command and prayer.

I kissed him deeper, my tongue tangling with his, and instantly, I tasted myself on him.

Warm, sweet and a little shameless.

My fingers clutched his arm, the other braced against his chest. I faltered for a moment, caught off guard by how hard he was beneath my palm, like stone.

Then, without a word, he scooped me up off the couch, effortless, like I weighed nothing, and carried me to the bed. His arms were all power and control, but his touch when he laid me down was careful. Gentle. Like I was breakable, even if we both knew I wasn’t.

He stepped back, hands going to his waistband, and stripped off the last of his clothes. Everything from the waist down was gone in seconds, but what remained?

Was all man.

And all mine.

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