Page 35 of When It's Us
His only answer is a hand on my hip, tugging me forward between his knees. I stumble a little, caught off guard, steadying myself with a hand on his shoulder as his palms settle on my hips.
His thumbs graze the lace of my panties. Thick fingers splay wide over the curve of my ass.
Then he leans in, lifts the hem of my shirt, and presses his lips to the skin below my navel.
I shudder.
My eyes fall closed, and I bite back a sound that’s halfway to a whimper, becauseholy hell—every part of me is screaming to climb on top of him and ride his face like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.
“I don’t think there’s any mosquito bites there,” I tell him.
His answering chuckle melts my insides. God, it’s unfair how attractive he is, how broad his shoulders are, how his breath fans out of the skin of my stomach, making my knees nearly buckle.
“It’s not mosquito bites I’m after.” His thumb brushes lower and slips over my clit through my panties.
“No?” The word comes out high pitched and breathless.
“Tell me something, California,” he says, voice low. “If I buried my face between these pretty thighs, would you be soaked for me?”
“Oh fuck,” I breathe out.
“Is that a yes?” His eyes find mine and I shake out a jerky nod.
“Yes.”
With that one word, he doesn’t hesitate—but grabs the back of my thigh, hikes my leg up, and hooks my knee over his arm. Then he pulls me straight against his face.
I have to grab the edge of the bunk above to keep from falling, heart hammering in my chest.
He breathes me in like he needs it, and the groan that rumbles out of him punches straight to my clit—before his mouth finds me.
I whimper, clutching the bunk rail with both hands, knuckles white, trying to stay upright on one leg while he licks, nips, and sucks at me through the thin fabric of my panties.
Then he drops my leg, grips my hips, and falls back onto the bed—dragging me with him. I land hard on his chest, breath knocked from my lungs.
And before I can process it, he shifts me like I weigh nothing, positioning me over his face, knees braced on either side of his head.
“Sit,” he says, gripping my hips.
I shake my head in protest. “But I’m on your hair—”
“I said sit.”
“But my underwear—”
“Will you do what you’re fucking told?” he bites out, then forces me down on his face, panties and all, making me moan.
His teeth nip at my fabric-covered clit, and I suck in a sharp breath. I wouldn’t want to stop this filthy assault on my senses, the sound he makes as he devours me through my already soaked panties, making it nearly impossible not to rock my hips.
He groans against me, his words muffled by my sex. “Fuck, California, you taste amazing.”
My cheeks heat. There is something so filthy about knowing he’s tasting me through my panties, and I break out in full body goosebumps, trying to keep from grinding down on his mouth harder, both hands braced on the low ceiling the bunk above us creates.
My thighs burn with the effort it takes to keep all my weight off him, but when he slips a finger inside my panties and pulls them to the side before taking one quick swipe of his tongue over my clit, they start to shake.
“Oh shit, oh fuck,” I mumble, head thrown back, eyes clamped shut, and white-hot need igniting in my veins. He’ll have me coming in five seconds flat if he keeps that up. It’s been so fucking long since he’s touched me—sinceanyonehas.
“Get your hands on those tits,” he tells me, but I know the second I do, I’ll have nothing to hold onto and my full weight will be on him.
