Page 82 of Unclench Me Softly

He doesn’t speed up. He doesn’t slow down. He holds me there on the edge, balancing on that horrible, perfect brink like it’s part of the lesson.

I whimper. Buck. Try to grind.

He holds me down. “No. You don’t get to move until I say so.”

I cry out. My orgasm is right there, clawing, pleading. “Please, Jonah, please.”

He pulls back. Just slightly.

I whine. A desperate sound. Ugly. Raw.

He presses a kiss to my cheekbone. Then, so softly it almost breaks me, says, “Beg better.”

I groan. My hands are fists. My whole body is pulsing with need. “Please, Jonah. Please let me come. I need it, I need you.”

That’s the moment he loses it.

He drops between my legs like he was always meant to live there, and his mouth replaces his hand, and oh god, he licks me like it’s a rite of passage. Like he’s worshiping. Like he’s teaching me a lesson I’ll never forget.

Tongue sliding up and over my clit, pressure perfect, steady, tongue-fucking me between groans like my pussy holds answers he’s been searching for.

I’m writhing. Blind. Sweating.

So close.

And he says, right into me, “Come for me, Bliss. Let go. Now.”

I shatter. Loud. Wet. Messy. I cry out like a woman possessed, body wracked with pleasure, mouth open, thighs shaking so hard I think I black out for a second.

And he doesn’t stop. Keeps licking me through it, deep and slow and soft, like he’s drinking every drop of my surrender.

He takes the blindfold off gently.

His face is wet. His mouth is fucking smug. But his eyes? His eyes are soft. “That’s better,” he murmurs. “Now you’re real.”

I blink up at him, boneless. Feral. Emotionally naked.

And all I can whisper is, “Holy shit.”

He smirks, just a little, and brushes his fingers across my thigh again, smudging his mark. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want this.”

He’s right.

And I’d let him do it again.

I’m still catching my breath, body limp, sheets damp, thighs shaking, when I feel him crawl back up my body.

His hands are steady. His eyes, when I manage to find them, are dark with purpose.

“Jonah,” I start, voice broken, but he shuts it down with a kiss. Not soft. Hungry. Tongue, teeth, pressure like he’s been waiting all goddamn day to stop being careful.

He pulls the robe completely off, tosses it somewhere, I hear it hit a candle, I don’t care, and presses his chest to mine, skin to skin, heat to heat.

Then he pulls back just enough to say, “I need to fuck you now.”

And it’s not a question.

He reaches down, unbuckles his belt with one hand, undoes his pants like he’s done it a hundred times in his head, and frees himself.

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