Page 57 of You Owe Me

She doesn’t deny it. Just moans.

And when I kiss her again, lower this time—soft and slow and deliberate—she gasps like it’s a confession.

I smile against her skin.

She’s unraveling.

And I’m just getting started.

Her thighs tense when I lower myself between them, hands braced on either side of her hips like I’m worshiping at an altar I built myself. I press a kiss to the inside of her knee—gentle, almost reverent—then trail another down the soft line of her thigh. She squirms, already impatient.

“I’m still waiting for a thank-you,” I murmur against her skin.

“For what?” she pants.

“For letting you survive round one.”

She laughs—breathless, wrecked—and then gasps when I nudge her legs wider and settle between them like I belong there.

Because I do.

Another kiss. Higher now. Her breath stutters.

Then my tongue traces the edge of her lace underwear, slow and deliberate, until she’s shifting restlessly, trying to get me where she wants me.

“Say please,” I whisper, mouthing over the fabric.

“You’re evil.”

“Please,” I remind her, nipping the waistband with my teeth.

She grits it out. “Please.”

So I slide the lace down, past her hips, slow enough to make her curse under her breath. And then I press my mouth to her—hot and open and hungry—and she falls apart instantly.

Her back arches, fingers digging into the cushions. I wrap an arm under her thigh, anchoring her as my tongue sweeps through her—firm, purposeful, unrelenting. She gasps again, louder this time, hips bucking into my mouth.

I hold her steady.

I take my time.

I learn every reaction, every stutter of her breath, every broken sound she tries to muffle.

Because this? This is mine.

Her pleasure. Her surrender. The way she chants my name like it’s a lifeline.

Mine.

And I’m not stopping until she remembers it with every part of her body.

She’s shaking by the time I finally lift my head.

Flushed. Gasping. Glowing.

Every inch of her is slick with heat and something close to worship. Her hands are still gripping the cushions while her eyes are glazed over, half-lidded, dazed, and wrecked.

Perfect.

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