Page 112 of Hoax and Kisses
A whimper escapes me when I feel the pressure of him between my legs.
“I told you,” he grits out. “The messier the better.”
Cupping my neck, he closes the distance. His lips are warm and soft against mine, setting a slow, torturous rhythm, one that tells me he would fuck me just like this too.
Meeting his movements, I lose myself in him again, in his taste and in his scent, everything that he is and has become to me.
“Sit on my face,” he pants between two flicks of his tongue.
Breath stuttering, I angle back. “What?”
“Sit on my face.”
“I—I’ve never done that,” I confess, my cheeks heating.
His eyes soften, though his pupils stay wide with need. With his lips swollen and his hair falling over his shoulders, he looks like a vision pulled straight from my most feverish dreams.
“I’ll guide you.”
I squirm on his lap, and he stifles a groan.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Lying back, he brackets my thighs with his strong hands. “Slide up to me.”
I obey. As I shift my way up his body, he clutches my ass, adjusting me as he wiggles further down, positioning himself under me. “Now lower yourself.”
“But I’m going to suffocate you.”
He grins. “Really hoping you do. Now sit.”
His command is clear and sharp, but his voice is the complete opposite. So soft that it loosens all my insecurities and hesitancies.
When I make contact with his beard, his name slips past my lips. At the first brush of his tongue, I forget my own.
It’s too much and not enough. It’s torture and sweet oblivion. He’s in no rush, dragging long, purposeful sweeps over my clit, the pressure swirling and twirling, building like waves low in my belly.
It’s embarrassing how close I am already. Instinctively, I start to rock my hips. Small, tentative movements at first, and,oh fuck, that feels good.
Matt groans against my flesh, the sound pulsing through my inner thighs, making my muscles clench around him. He digs his fingertips into the globes of my ass, holding me flush against his mouth as he licks and sucks until my legs begin to shake. Gripping a fistful of his hair, I tip my head back and grind against his face, using him to get right where I need to.
A few thrusts of my hips and I’m there. I cry out his name, riding the high on his tongue as he takes every drop I give him.
He eases me off him gently and lays me on my back. “Fuck. I can’t get enough of you.” He licks his lips as he shifts, then plants kisses on my stomach, on my breasts, on my neck until he hovers over me, need gushing from his gaze. “Can I fuck you now?”
“Please.”
He chuckles and brushes hair out of my face. “Give me a sec to grab a condom.”
Standing, he unbuttons his pants and shucks them. His boxers and socks too. Far too casually, he saunters to his dresser, like there’s nothing more natural to him than being naked while I’m sprawled out on his bed, his sheets around me. The moment is so familiar, so comfortable, yet intimate in a way I always believed only couples who’d been together for years could be. It pulls on all the strings he attached to my heart, the ones that are tightly wrapped around his.
This could be us in twenty years.
“Shit.”
I rise up on my elbows. “What?”
He turns to me, holding up a small box. “I might have used the last one when I came to your place the first night you were here.”
