Page 76 of Fire Island
“Lose the clothes, Cal,” Evie pants.
I don’t move, simply letting my gaze burn into hers. A strangled sound escapes when she rips the shirt from my body. Next, her hand pops the button of my jeans, and they are shoved down my legs.
“We’re doing this at your pace.” The words are ash on my tongue, my restraint barely holding.
“I don’t want my pace. I want yours.” Her mouth opens, and she spreads her thighs wider, reaching for me.
Fucking hell.
I sweep her up off the table and onto my hips, my mouth crashing into hers. Her hands are in my hair. I knead her ass as I ascend the stairs to our room.
Ourfucking room.
My goddamn woman.
Mine.
Kicking the door shut—for god knows what reason—I slam her into the wall. She moans into my mouth. I break away, nipping her neck as she squirms against the wall, her soaked pussy grinding against my hard stomach.
My throbbing cock is desperate for her sweet, wet heat wrapped around it. I haul in a lungful.
“Cal,” she utters, a whimper stealing the rest of that particular breath.
“Yeah, baby girl.”
“I need—I want to see you.”
I raise my head. “You want to watch us?”
She nods. Her face is flushed, the brown of her eyes so dark you could drown in their depths.
I peel her from the wall and pad to the desk by the window. Depositing her on the cool wooden surface, I give her a littlespace. She pulls me right back in, opening wide for me. I run a finger down her stomach, stopping shy of her clit.
Capturing my mouth with hers, she whimpers.
I’m an asshole, I know.
Making her wait. Teasing her... Taking my damn time.
Breaking away from her kiss, I drop to my knees. Worshipping this woman the way I fucking should. Her head falls back to the round windowpane as I claim her glistening pussy with my tongue.
Fine fingers find their way into my messy hair.
I sink my tongue through her again, and she bucks on the edge of the desk.
“Cal-lum . . . oh—my god.”
I chuckle, my beard moving against her slick opening. Her breaths peter out.
“Come on baby, that can’t be all it takes,” I say as she trembles.
She’s shaking her head.
No? Yes?
“Words, mo nighean. I know you’ve got them.”
With a strained, raw little sound, she nods. “Mouth, fingers... Please.”
