Page 145 of Going Viral for Christmas
Soren’s tongue.
Hot. Wicked. Sweeping over the icing. Over me. And that’s when I fucking lose myself.
Twenty-Four
SOREN
She’s stretched across the table, gorgeous as fuck. And that ever-present hunger I’ve been tucking between every sleepless night and aching pause that has lived in me for a year, whispering:keep your distance, but don’t let her get away.
Well, that hunger ain’t got shit to say today.
Ava’s skin is honey-warmed and haloed in firelight.
Defenses? Fallen.
Deflection? Stripped away.
Distance? Obliterated.
Just Ava.
Me.
Nothing left in our way.
I drag my palms over her bare thighs, gaze traveling up the soft slope of her stomach to where her breasts rise and fall with every breath. They’re full and begging for my mouth.
Ava’s lips are parted, hair a wild halo across the table. She doesn’t look scared. No, she’s temptation laid bare, ready to be devoured.
Tearing apart another piece of cinnamon roll, I let it melt slightly between my fingers before trailing it between herbreasts, letting icing drip down the centerline of her body like I’m glazing a dessert I’ve waited so fucking long to taste.
My mouth follows, licking every drop from her skin as penance and praise.
“You don’t know how beautiful you are,” I whisper against her belly, tracing her skin with my mouth. “You’re mine right now because you let yourself want me. You stopped running. You let go.That’sthe sexiest fucking thing, Bells.”
A ragged breath escapes Ava’s lips. Her hands slide into my hair, tugging enough to make my cock jump. My control is fraying, but I’m not rushing.
I kiss her. Hard. Deep. Consuming. She tastes like cinnamon and surrender, and when I pull back, her lips are slick, her pupils blown wide, chest rising fast.
“You ready to serve me breakfast, baby?” My fingers trail between her legs, taunting her. “I’m fucking starving.”
Dragging a piece of the roll down lower, I rest it above the place I’m about to claim.
Ava hasn’t said anything. Her throat works, presumably swallowing around words that won’t come out. One hand lifts, falters halfway, her fingers curl against her palm. Her breathing’s quick but uneven, and her eyes—those soft, searching autumn-colored eyes—keep flitting between mine and the space somewhere past my shoulder, like she’s not sure which version of herself she’s supposed to be right now.
It’s not rejection. It’s hesitation. She’s still learning how to stand still in the light.
“Stay in this moment with me.” I kneel. “Don’t let the ghosts pull you back.”
One hand grips her thigh, the other spreads her open. And then?—
My tongue licks straight up her center.
Her back bows instantly, a heavy gasp tearing out of her throat, my name swimming around it like a prayer she didn’t mean to speak. The sound spears straight through me, settling brutally and relentlessly.
I take my time, learning her, teasing the edges, pressing deeper, flicking where I know she can’tresist.
Ava tastes like sugary icing and something all her own, sweet and addictive, and I know I’ll never get enough.
