Page 16 of My Only

Before we had drifted off, we had massaged each other. Our hands were slicked with the chocolate-coconut-flavored oil we had discovered in our honeymoon suite’s gift basket, courtesy of the resort.

Hassani had been the first to use it.

Our first morning in Saint Lucia, he had drizzled it onto my skin while I slept—then woken me with his tongue buried between my thighs.

He had cleaned every drop of oil from my skin, stroking my clit in slow, tight circles until my back arched so high I couldn’t breathe.

That man had wrecked me before I had even opened my eyes.

By the time my release had ripped through me, I was boneless, slipping back into sleep not long after waking.

I had vowed to get him back for that.

And now… I saw my opportunity.

I slipped from the bed, tiptoeing into the villa and toward the bathroom.

After freshening up and brushing my teeth, I returned just as quietly.

Hassani was still asleep.

I smiled, knowing he was about to wake up the same way I had.

I watched him for a moment, the daybed’s light summer bedding barely covering him—his torso bare, the sheets pooled at his waist.

The massage oil from last night still gleamed against his golden-brown skin.

He looked like a well-chiseled statue, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only movement against the stillness of the morning.

With the bottle of edible massage oil in hand, I slipped onto the daybed’s mattress, careful not to wake him.

Slowly, I lifted the covers.

Drizzling the warm oil onto his abs, his dick, I wrapped my fingers around him, my touch light. Focused.

Then, I took him into my mouth.

“Mmm,” he groaned in his sleep, his body stirring.

His lashes fluttered, brows tensing, breath hitching.

Then, his eyes blinked open.

“Good morning,” I mumbled, my lips still wrapped around him.

“Gah—” He growled, his jaw going slack, his abs clenching as I bobbed deeper.

His fist gripped the pillow I had slept on, pressing it to his face, his muffled groans spilling into the fabric.

I moaned, hollowing my cheeks, my tongue stroking where I knew he liked it most.

His free hand found my curls, fisting them, his grip tightening with every flick of my tongue.

His grunts deepened, roughened, his chest rising and falling in quick succession.

He tugged at my hair, the silent plea clear and not missed on me.

He was close.

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