Page 44 of The Lightkeeper

My lips parted with a shaky breath.

“Say it, sea star.”

My chest caved. “I need to know what an orgasm feels like.”

His tongue swirled over my pulse, making it thrum harder. “And do you want that experiment to happen with my fingers or my tongue?”

I sucked in a breath. I wanted to experience it in every way—including sex—but it seemed like that was off the table. So, I asked for the next best thing. “Both.”

He groaned low against my skin.

“I’ve never experienced it with either,” I confessed.

His curse was cut off as his teeth sank into the side of my neck. I could feel the ridge of his erection swell thicker between my legs, and I was about to admit the rest of the truth that I’d never had sex before, but his mouth claimed mine once more.

Long, deep strokes of his tongue made my world start to tipon its axis. Pleasure pooled between my legs, and like the other night, I began to rock against him, needing more.

“Slow down, sea star,” he cooed. “I’ll give you what you need, I promise.” His hands skated up the sides of my arms until they reached the top of my shirt. “But let me worship you first.”

The fabric peeled over my shoulders. His fingers hooked the straps of my bra and took that with him, lower and lower until he’d bared my breasts and I whimpered, relieved that the fabric was gone.

He stared down at me, his hot gaze warring with the cool air, which pebbled my nipples harder. Meanwhile, I was mesmerized by his expression—the usual stone mask of distance and frustration gone, erased by much stronger emotions.

Desire. Hunger. Possession.

“Fuck, they’re perfect,” he groaned, and then pulled my head to his, stealing another kiss and sealing the compliment to my lips.

I hummed and said breathlessly. “You’re good at compliments.”

A hoarse chuckle pushed from his chest. “Are you searching for more?”

“N-No,” I said tremulously when his hands slid down my shoulders to the outside of my arms, both of them pinned by my blouse that he’d left bunched down over my stomach. And then his hold tipped me back so he could stare.

“No?” His thumbs traced the underside of my breasts, painting fire along the skin and my breath hitched. I’d add this stare to the list of things I’d never experienced before. “Are you sure?” he growled and cupped my breasts.

Sensations exploded through me. The heat of his palm. The coarseness of his skin as it rubbed over the peak of my nipple. The stretch of his fingers—even his big grip wasn’t enough to hold my entire breast… but it came close. And when he started to knead them—to weigh the aching flesh—I felt my eyes roll back in my head.

“No.” I moaned and then shook my head. “I mean yes,” I panted. “Yes, I’m sure.” I didn’t need compliments. Not with confidence.

His nose dragged over my collarbone, his next words making my heart trip. “Because you deserve them all.” He swirled his thumbs over my nipples, the sensation making me shiver. “Smart. Determined.” Another swirl. “Kind. Curious.” My breath caught.Was he sure he wanted to compliment me on that?“Beautiful.”

Beautiful.

To him.

“Kit.” The room began to spin. The only thing left in focus was the press of his lips in a path along my breasts, closer and closer to where I needed him.

“I could spend a lifetime studying you, Aurora Cross,” he said. “The curve of the dimple in your smile. The perfect pitch of your laugh or the sound you make when you find something new or exciting.” He released my breast to trail a single finger down the slope. “The softness of your skin. The shape of your body. The taste…” he groaned. “Beg me to taste you.”

Another time, I would’ve wondered if I should’ve been embarrassed by my whimper at his words—the amount of pleasure they had the power to cause, but not now.

He blew a stream of hot air over my nipple.

“Please, Kit,” I wholeheartedly begged, urging him with the arch of my back because I’d lost the exact words to say.

But it didn’t matter because he knew. He wanted it too badly, too. His hands tightened deliciously on my breasts, holding them higher and framing my nipples in the arch between his thumb and forefinger like he was presenting himself a feast.

And then the hot flat of his tongue swiped over one tip,and I lost my mind. I cried out—too preemptive in my pleasure—because his lips closed over the straining bud and began to suck.

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