Page 86 of When Wildflowers Bloom

Tighter.

Licking.

Faster.

Close.

Closer.

Gone.

Choppy breaths and curses come out of my mouth as his tongue—slower now—helps me ride out every drop of euphoria.

My legs jerk against his palms, but his grip keeps me in place.

Panting.

His mouth moves.

Up mybelly.

Across the ink on my chest.

The column of my throat.

My ear.

My. Ear.

My mouth.

I tastemeonhim.

Then before I can take a full breath, he’s over me, ripping open a condom with his teeth.

“I love you, Birdie,” he whispers, kissing my collarbone before sitting upright. Hard between my legs, he rolls a condom on. “But now I’m going to wreck you.”

My just-satisfied body responds to his words like a thirsty traveler at an oasis. Needy.

Again—“I think I might like that,” is all I can say. But in truth: IknowI will.

And there he is.

No hesitating.

Hips driving.

In.

He adjusts himself so his body molds against mine. A melding of our flesh when he fills me completely.

My hips chase his as he pulls back—earning a slight smile from him as he hovers over me—before the refilling.

Again.

And again.

The spot he’s hitting with every movement straddles the line of pleasure and pain.

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