Page 55 of Tear Me to Pieces
When my mouth fixes to her pussy, she gasps, the sound startled and shocked.
But she’s not shocked for long.
“Oh my Go—” The word abruptly cuts off as one hand fumbles around my shoulder, looking for something to hang onto as her head falls back. “Simon.”
Hearing my name fall from her lips as my tongue is against her clit has my dick hardening again.
It’s going to have to get over it. I obviously can’t act right, so no more coming until I know I won’t try to mark every damn inch of her.
And that’s probably a good thing, because I’m positive if Myra asked me to fuck her right now, I would. And she’s not ready for that. Not only because I know once I fuck her there won’t be any going back, but also because she’s obviously intimidated by my size.
And I’ll be damned if I ever hurt her.
Releasing one leg, I use the shoulder still wedged under her thigh to keep her balanced while I ease my middle and ring fingers into her body. She’s so fucking hot. So tight. So soft and so tempting.
The feel of her clenching around my fingers makes me groan as I curve them upward and slowly finger fuck her in time with the flick of my tongue against her clit.
“Ahh—” Myra’s hips flex, and I can’t tell if she’s working with me or against me as she grips the blankets beneath her with one hand and my wet hair with the other. “Simm-onn.” My name is a wail as her cunt suddenly clamps down, her inner muscles flexing as once again her orgasm hits out of nowhere.
I drag it out, tonguing her clit and stroking into her until she sucks in a sharp breath and shoves my head away.
And I must still be a fucking flat-foot, mouth-breathing caveman, because I pull my fingers from her body and grip her thighs, spreading them wide so I can lick up the drenched line of her slit, claiming every drop.
I created it. It’s mine.
Just like she is.
19
MYRA
“Wow.”I walk in the back door of my house, shocked yet again at how much Simon’s accomplished while I was at work.
He’s spent nearly every waking minute here—finishing the drywall, priming and painting, adding trim to the windows and thick crown molding around the ceilings. His plan for today was to start laying down the reclaimed hardwood Christian took out of an old Victorian some dingbat with more money than sense wanted to modernize. I assumed it would be a multi-day project, but Simon’s basically got the front room and family room finished.
And it appears a little has even crept into the entryway.
He straightens, looking sexy as hell with sawdust clinging to his jeans, messy hair, and a T-shirt with a hole at the hem. “What do you think? Still like the color? Because we can sand it down and refinish it if you want something different.”
A pang of something vicious stabs through my insides. A violent penchant I didn’t know I was capable of until I started getting to know Simon and learned about the people who’d hurt him inhis past. He’s the most giving, kind, selfless person I think I’ve ever known, and I can imagine how easily he could be taken advantage of. Unappreciated.
Used.
I’d very much like the opportunity to meet with everyone who’s done any of those things, starting—and maybe ending—with his dad and Lenore.
“I love it.” I’m being truthful, but I’m also hoping to show him my appreciation. It’s not one of my strengths. Not because I don’t want to do it, but because I haven’t had much of an opportunity.
Not until Simon. Now I’m getting a crash course.
“Yeah?” The smile he gives me is wide and has a hopeful edge. “You sure?”
“I’m positive.” I slide my bags onto the counter before walking to where he stands so I can look over everything he’s accomplished. “I can’t believe you got so much done.” I smile up at him. “You must have been going non-stop today.”
Simon shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal that he’s been working his ass off on my house every day.
And dishing out mind-numbing orgasms every night.
The man works hard at everything he does. Laying flooring, making us dinner, playing on stage—Simon gives it his all. And that for sure carries over into the bedroom.
