Page 46 of Wait With Me
I inhale deeply. “Christ, you smell like sin.”
“Oh God,” she moans, and I really surprise her when my tongue darts out to tease that tight bundle of nerves. “And you taste like heaven,” I add before flattening my tongue and licking the entire length of her.
“Holy shit,” she cries loudly as I proceed to fuck her with my tongue.
God, she’s responsive. It’s been ages since I’ve done this with a woman because I refuse to do it with random girls. But Mercedes is definitely not random. She’s fucking perfect as she writhes against my assault on her pussy. Her back arching and flattening over and over as she squeezes the bedspread and struggles to handle everything I give her.
When I suck her clit into my mouth, her hands fork into my hair, nails scoring my scalp so harshly, I growl into her sweet cunt. “Jesus, Miles! Yes!”
The vibrations of my voice only drive her more wild because suddenly, her thighs squeeze so tightly around my head, I go deaf for a second—lost only to the sensations of my heartbeat racing and the interior, erotic noises of my mouth as I swirl my tongue all over her sweet center.
I can tell she’s close to coming, but not because her cries grow louder. It’s because they grow softer. In the short time I’ve spent with her, I know that she loses her voice when she reaches that point of no return. It’s when she can see the finish line, and it looms over her like a ticking time bomb.
It’s fucking glorious to witness.
I pull back to look up at her as I plunge two fingers into her wet heat. When she comes, I want to feel it. I want to feel everything from this woman. I seal my mouth back on her clit and suck, hard. And like a damn easy button, her spasming response is instantaneous.
She goes stock-still, tensing everywhere except her center as her muscles contract, pulling me into her. I have to bite back a proud laugh as I feel every single tremble of her pussy detonate against my fingers.
It’s magnificent.
After a few moments, her voice returns with long, breathy moans of delirium. She’s not saying anything. She’s recovering. She’s making up for the moans her orgasm stole from her and goddamnit, it’s perfect.
“Want to know what I’m thinking now, babe?” I ask, staring up at her from between her thighs.
She looks down at me, her hair wild, eyes wide, lips parted. “Yes,” she croaks, voice raw and overworked.
“I’m thinking your pussy is the best I’ve ever had, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of it.” My honest words take me by surprise, but I quickly cover them up by rising to my knees and pulling off my shirt.
When I undo my jeans, and my dick pours out long and hard and ready for its own release, we both forget my admission and get back to work. This is just for research after all.
The sound of soft tapping wakes me in the middle of the night. I assume it must be raining outside and maybe Mercedes left her window open, so I roll over to have a look. My eyes have to blink a few times to take in the sight of my redhead, sitting cross-legged in the chair at her desk. But she’s not facing out toward the window, she’s facing the bed. Her face is illuminated in the soft white light from her laptop screen, and she’s so laser-focused on what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice me watching her.
She’s wearing my black T-shirt, and I’m betting nothing else as the laptop rests squarely in the middle opening of her legs. Her tongue slips out of her mouth, running along her upper and lower lip, and I think I hear a little moan escape her lips, but that fact doesn’t stop her fingers from flying across the keyboard.
It’s an adorable sight, and one I’d be very inclined to sit back and enjoy if I didn’t have a raging erection already. I prop myself up on the headboard and have to clear my throat before she even notices me in her eye line.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaims with a jolt, her hand pressing against her chest. “How long have you been awake?”
“Only a couple of minutes.” I frown at her wide-eyed, guilty expression. “What are you doing on your computer that’s so important in the middle of the night?”
My hand instinctively fists around the blanket in preparation, because if this was Jocelyn, whatever she was doing wouldn’t be good.
Mercedes eyes alight with excitement. “I’m writing!”
“At this hour?” I ask, dubiously, glancing over at the digital clock on the end table that displays 3:18 a.m.
“I couldn’t get to sleep!” She shrugs. “The ideas have been flowing since the minute we shut the lights off.”
“You’ve been writing since we went to bed?”
“Well, no, I was plotting in my mind for a good hour first. I was trying to whisper scenes into the audio recorder on my phone so I wouldn’t wake you, but then I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get up and frickin’ write!”
She turns her laptop to face me, showing me a word document full of her efforts. “Five thousand words in three hours. That’s Tire Depot magic right there!”
I half-smile, my entire body relaxing with a strange relief. “Maybe it’s Miles Hudson magic.”
Her eyes drift down to take me in more fully this time. My bare chest is on full display, and the blanket is draped so low, she gets an eyeful of the deepVmuscle of my obliques. The heated look in her eyes is not lost on me.
