Page 96 of Unclench Me Softly

His hands are still marked with ash when he lays me down.

No words, no hesitation, just calm, careful movement that feels somehow more intimate than anything spoken.

The grass beneath me is cool and slightly damp.

I wonder briefly if this is where the robe was always meant to end up, crumpled at my feet, sacrificed for some ancient rite of emotional combustion and absolutely inappropriate forest sex.

Seb settles over me with the kind of quiet strength that should be intimidating but isn’t. He doesn’t overwhelm. He surrounds. His presence fills the space around me like smoke from the fire, curling into every place I didn’t know I was aching.

When he kisses me, it’s slow and searching, not gentle so much as thorough, like he’s trying to learn my mouth before he claims the rest. His lips are warm and rough, his tongue confident but patient.

I make some kind of embarrassingly sacred sound into his mouth that probably echoes through the trees like a prayer to whatever deity is in charge of letting feral men ruin robe witches under the moon.

He doesn’t undress me all at once. He takes his time, slipping the fabric from my hips like he’s unwrapping a prophecy, his palms dragging across my thighs with a reverence that makes my whole spine arch. By the time he reaches the hem of my underwear, I’m already pulsing, already grasping at his arms, already wondering if I’ll survive what’s coming.

And then he lowers his mouth between my legs.

No warning.

No hesitation.

Just that steady, devastating heat as he parts me with his tongue and begins to worship like he’s been starving for this exact ritual.

I moan, loudly, because there’s no way to be quiet about this, and one of my legs hooks around his shoulder without permission, pulling him closer, grounding myself against the solid pressure of his jaw as he licks me in long, deliberate strokes that make my vision start to blur.

He groans against me when I grind against his mouth, like I’m the one giving him something, and that thought nearly sends me over the edge right then.

His fingers dig into my thighs, anchoring me, spreading me open as he sucks gently on my clit, then harder.

I gasp, the sound cracking apart at the end as my whole body clenches around the sudden, shocking heat of my orgasm. I arch, I swear, I possibly speak in tongues for a moment.

He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m trembling against the grass and trying to remember how breathing works.

He kisses my thigh once before pulling back, his face flushed, mouth slick, and eyes full of something I do not have the emotional vocabulary for.

I try to speak.

Fail.

Try again.

“Okay,” I breathe, swallowing around what might be tears or laughter, “That was… spiritually cleansing.”

Seb doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth shifts slightly, his version of a smirk.

Then he’s pulling me up, moving like he’s not even winded, and guiding me over him until I’m straddling his lap, completely naked, covered in ash, and realizing I may never emotionally recover from what’s about to happen.

His cock is thick and hard against my thigh, and I reach down to wrap my hand around it, loving the way he inhales sharply, his jaw twitching like he’s trying not to react. He’s big, of course he is, and my mouth waters at the sheer weight of him, thick and hot and heavy in my palm.

I grind against him once, twice, letting us both feel the drag, the heat, the almost, and then I shift my hips and sink down, slowly, letting him fill me inch by inch until I’m seated flush against him and full in a way that feels entirely unfair to anyone who isn’t me right now.

He groans, quiet but guttural, and his hands grip my hips like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s the one trying not to come apart. And gods, the way he feels inside me, thick and stretching and perfect, it’s enough to make me shudder.

I start to move, slow at first, rolling my hips in tight, grinding circles, and his eyes lock on mine, wide and dark and awed.

It’s not just fucking.

It’s worship.

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