Page 43 of Rescuing Aria
When he reaches the sensitive crease behind my knee, his teeth graze gently, just enough to send a jolt straight between my legs. My thighs twitch. His hands hold me still, steady, as his mouth climbs higher. Higher.
The trail he leaves is fire. Wet heat. Teasing pressure.
By the time his breath ghosts over the inside of my thighs, I’m shaking. My hips tilt toward him instinctively, desperate, shameless.
“Jon—” It slips out, breathless. Not a command. A plea.
“Patience.” He glances up, mouth hovering just inches from my center, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. His fingers ghost along the edge of my panties, just beneath the lace, warm skin brushing silk. Then he pulls back—again. The retreat is intentional, maddening. A whimper slips from my throat before I can stop it. “Tell me what you want.”
His voice is silk over steel. Teasing. Commanding. He knows exactly what he’s doing. My breath hitches as I meet his gaze, dark and focused like a storm ready to break.
I freeze.
No one’s ever asked me that before. Not like this. Sex was always about what someone else wanted. What I was supposed to give. I learned the script early—how to arch, how to moan, how to pretend it was enough. No one ever asked what I needed.
“I want…” The words catch in my throat. God, why is this so hard? “I want you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.” His fingers slide along the waistband again, tracing lazy circles that do nothing to relieve the ache pounding between my thighs.
“More.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I want more.”
“Be specific.” He leans closer, breath warm against my cheek.
The flush crawls down my neck, but the embarrassment is no match for the hunger burning in my gut. His demand strips me bare in a way that has nothing to do with nudity. I swallow hard.
“I want your hands on me. All over me. I want your mouth. I want to feel you…” I falter, pulse thundering. “Inside me.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes, hard enough that I see it even in the dim light. His control fractures, just slightly, and the crack is beautiful.
“Good.” His voice roughens. “I like hearing what you want.”
Then finally—finally—his fingers slip beneath the lace. The first brush against my swollen, slick flesh steals the air from my lungs. My hips jerk upward, desperate for more, for anything.
“Patience,” he murmurs, the word both a promise and punishment. One hand holds me firm by the hip, anchoring me, while the other moves with excruciating slowness, exploring and learning. He touches me like it’s a privilege. Like I’m the gift, not the prize.
It’s torture. Exquisite, breathless torture.
I want to scream. Claw at him. Beg.
But I don’t. Because every second of this torment makes the need sharper, the pleasure deeper. And when he finally gives me what I want, it’s going to shatter me.
With deliberate slowness, he draws my panties down my legs. I’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—or so desired. The way he looks at me makes me feel like the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, running his hands up my now-bare legs, parting them gently.
The cool air hits my heated skin, making me shiver. I should feel self-conscious, laid bare like this, but the reverence in his eyes banishes any uncertainty.
His hands grip the insides of my thighs and ease them farther apart, but it’s his mouth that undoes me. The first swipe of his tongue lands like a lightning strike—sharp, wet, devastating. A cry rips from my throat before I can stop it.
My spine bows off the mattress. His hands clamp down on my hips, anchoring me to the bed as his mouth works lower, deeper, with maddening purpose. No hesitation. No mercy.
He explores me like he’s memorizing every gasp, every tremble, every stuttered breath. Tongue and lips and the faint scrape of teeth—all of it driving me higher. My fingers twist in the sheets, my legs shaking around his shoulders. I teeter there, so close I can taste it—and then he stops.
Air punches from my lungs.
“Jon—” The sound barely forms, half a plea, half a sob.
“Not yet.” He rises onto his knees between my thighs, mouth slick, gaze dark and unreadable. Hunger simmers beneath the restraint, that same careful control I’ve come to crave and curse.
