Page 85 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“I think I’d like that,” I reply, weak, as the sensation on my skin goes from being lips to tongue. Bo licks a straight line up the inside of my thigh. A flame to a fuse. Burning.

Up.

Higher.

His hands wrap around the backs of my thighs until his fingertips grip into the tops of my legs, holding me in place as mybody starts to struggle to stay still. I knowexactlywhere I want that mouth.

My fingers tangle in his hair as he moves his blessed tongue across my skin.

Closer.

“Birdie, I’m going to worship you,” he says, dark eyes looking up at me for a split second.

My tongue is too heavy, throat too swollen. There are no words to respond with how much I want that.

So I don’t.

Not as he moves to where I need him with his beautiful mouth.

Not when he tastes me like he’s savoring it.

Not as he pulls back slightly, close enough I can feel him breathing.There.

I expect his touch again, but he doesn’t give it; he waits.

Blowing against my skin.

Teasing.

Making my body tighten and struggle with want.

In an exodus of restraint, “Bo, please,” slips through my lips. I’m begging and I don’t care.

He blows again, grazing me with his mouth. “Tell me what you want, Birdie.”

Just the slight vibration of his voice against my skin pulls my hands out of his hair and forces my upper body to drop back onto the bed from the heaviness.

Another blow of his breath, taunt of his mouth. “Say it.” Now there’s a teasing finger involved, and I swear I wouldn’t know my own name if somebody asked me.

“Bo,” I choke. “Put your damn mouth on me before I die.”

That’s all he needs.

With a growl, he licks, working his tongue until it pulls my back off the bed and a permanent whimper from my lips.

He’s hungry. Carnivorous, even.

Moving.

There.

Swirling his tongue like some kind of magician.

Over and over and over.

My whimpers turn to curses then to begs. A loop of saying, “God. Bo. Please.”

Hands wrapped around my thighs, his fingers grip.

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