Page 98 of Saddles

The pressure in my belly grows with every burning nibble.

His rough palms cup my hips, circling to grip my thighs, spreading me to feast deeper.

Panting, I fist his hair and writhe beneath him.

I want him to hurry and never stop.

One of his hands slips down, his finger joining the magic of his mouth as he propels me closer to the edge.

“You tell me if it hurts.” His pale gray eyes watch me over my quivering stomach. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.” As if to emphasize, he peppers my inner thigh with a series of light kisses until he suctions my stiff clit between his lips.

My ribs hover above the mattress and my chin arches towards the ceiling, silently begging him for more.

He doesn’t know it, but I’ll never tell him to stop.

I don’t care if I have bruises after. I’ll be able to look in the mirror and remember the passion in his eyes, the intensity that he grasps me.

The want. The need.

The love.

His second finger slides into me, pushing me precariously to crashing.

“Ford…fuck…” My whine seems to invigorate him. His tongue flicks in a rapid pulse that hurtles me into a spasm of ecstasy. Waves of pleasure both contract and relax every muscle until I collapse, gasping, into the damp sheets.

“So damn perfect,” he mutters against my throbbing pussy.

But he doesn’t let up. He dives back between my limp legs as if he’s starving.

I’m so sensitive it almost stings.

Pushing my knee up, he rolls my hips to open me even more.

Three fingers.

It’s almost too much.

Cold sweat prickles my forehead as his knuckles churn in a deep rhythm with his tongue.

My palm brushes the wild hair from my face, and I catch a glimpse of the pink scars still healing on my wrist.

Thatwas pain.

What Ford’s doing isn’t. I can feel him spread his hand, stretching me.

He’s getting me ready.

And my god does it feel good.

It’s a whole different level of exquisite sensation, tugging at some hidden well of rapture that I never knew existed.

My nails dig at his scalp when he withdraws. “Please—” There’s an empty void he’s unleashed that I need filled.

He’s the only one who can.

“Patience, Frosty.” His lips work in a broadening arc away from the apex of my thighs, following the path of his hand.

He traces the length of my leg, kissing the inside of my knee, raising it to nip on the cusp of my ankle. “Every inch of you,” he groans as he shifts until he’s poised above me.

---