Page 65 of The Break Down

Like a man who’s found his religion in the way she tastes. I lick and suck and slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right, finding that secret patch of skin.

I stroke her there until she’s trembling.

Until her pussy floods, and my face is soaked.

Until her legs are shaking and she’s chanting my name. Like she might forget how to breathe if she stops.

Poor darling is desperate for it. And I want to beat my chest like a brute and roar to the world that I am the one who does this to her.

The only one from here on out.

Finley comes like she was made to.

Hard. Loud.

Her thighs trembling for long seconds after as I drag out her pleasure. I slow my licks and strokes, but I don’t stop. Not even when her back arches and she whimpers and begs.

“Please, no more. I can’t!”

“Sure you can, Red. Watch,” I reassure her.

She doesn’t know what she needs. I do.

And her pussy does, too.

Her sopping wet sex is still clenching around my fingers like she doesn’t want to let me go.

She relaxes, giving me control. And I reward her with another flick of my tongue against her sensitive clit.

“Koa! Yes!”

“Good girl,” I rasp against her. “That’s it. Give it to me.”

Because I’m not fucking done.

Not by a long shot.

I kiss my way up her body—tasting her skin, her sweat, her sweet surrender—and I savor it all.

Every single thing about her.

The sight she makes like a siren made of flame and heat spread out across the pristine sheets like a sacrifice.

All her flavors.

All her sounds.

When I reach her mouth, I kiss her like she’s mine. Because she is.

But it’s not a one way thing.

As sure as she’s mine, I am hers.

I already belong to her.

I reach down for my shorts and grab the condom that’s been burning a hole in my pocket for days.

I tear it open with my teeth and roll it on with a hiss because I’m so fucking hard it hurts.

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