Page 91 of The Persistence of Thornes
I nod over and over again, my breaths choppy. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” He bites at my collarbone.
“Yes, please.”
I’m rewarded for my obediencewith a soft kiss to my lips. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, adding another finger to the first. I’m stretched, though I’m still not full enough, but I’ll take what I can get.
He pumps his fingers slowly, thumb pressed to my clit. The sensations, coupled with his soft words of praise, send me hurtling toward the urge far more quickly than I could have anticipated.
“I’m—”
He cuts my words off with a kiss.
His tongue is still tangling with mine when I come apart on his fingers. I shatter into a million pieces, yet, somehow, he holds every one. It might be the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. If I’m still mostly clothed, then I can’t imagine what?—
In one quick move, he pulls my jeans and underwear off and drops them to the kitchen floor. They look out of place in his neat space, melted onto the floor like a popsicle.
“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, eyes glued to my center.
Hit with a bolt of insecurity, I bring my knees together.
With two warm, gentle hands on my thighs, he stops me, pushing me open wider for his viewing pleasure. “Did I tell you to close your legs?”
I don’t respond, the combination of desire and relief and trepidation making it impossible to form words.
Ducking so we’re eye to eye, he prompts me again with a stern “Halle?”
Words shaky, I finally breathe out, “No. You didn’t.”
“So”—he arches a brow—“why did you try?”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Is it because you don’t want my fingers inside you again?”
Heart stumbling, I squeak. “That’s not?—”
“Or my mouth?”
I whimper, the sound pulling a cocky grin out of him.
“Ah, so you do want my mouth on this sweet cunt?”
“Yes.” My abdominal muscles flex, warmth flooding me again.
“Yes, what?” he teases, smirk growing. “Come on, Halle. I thought you knew the magic word by now.”
My breath hitches. “Please.”
Eyes darkening, he murmurs, “That’s my girl.”
Caleb drops to his knees with a groan, parting my folds with his fingers. “Fuck.” His eyes flick up to mine. “I can’t wait to taste you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? I’m at risk of melting into a puddle on the floor beside my pants. No one has ever called me that before. Prickly? Sure. Stuck-up bitch? Plenty of times. But sweetheart? Never, and I… I hate that I like it.
Without warning, his mouth is on me, his tongue flicking my clit. I cry out, lying back on the cool marble. The little bundle of nerves is already sensitive, so almost immediately, I’m wiggling against him, a whimper falling from my lips. He presses a hand to my pelvis to hold me still, the move making the sensations all the more intense.
He works his tongue against me, licking and sucking, bringing me to the edge and pulling away just as the waves of pleasure crest. Each time, I cry out in protest, and each time, I swear his smug grin gets bigger. Before I can catch my breath and curse him out, though,he dives back in.
