Page 50 of That Moment
“What—why did you?—”
I smirk, bring my fingers to my mouth, and suck them clean while holding her gaze. “Because not like this,” I murmur, voice a growl. “I want to taste you first.”
Her breath catches, pupils blown wide. “Oh my God…”
“Not God, sweetheart,” I rasp, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Just me.”
Her breath hitches when I palm the heat between her thighs. Lace is soaked. I hook my fingers into the waistband and slow it down on purpose, over her hips, past that perfect ass, down her legs until the panties hit the floor with a soft whisper.
“Fuck,” I rasp, taking in the shine of her. “Look at you, sweetheart. So wet for me.”
I nudge her knees wider, and the dress rides up, baring all of her. I settle on the rug between the couch and her, hands spread against her thighs, thumbs stroking the soft inside until she trembles.
“Keep your eyes on me,” I tell her, voice low. “I want you to see how beautiful your pussy is when I open you up.”
I spread her with my thumbs. She’s glistening, pink and swollen, the kind of sight that makes a man forget his name. I lean in and breathe her in, sweet and wild. “Christ… you smell like you’ve been thinking about me all day.” I drag my nose along her, slow. “And you sound,” she lets out a shaky whimper, “like you’re about to beg.”
“Scotty,” she whispers, already breathless.
“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you.” I flatten my tongue and lick a long, deliberate stripe from her entrance up to her clit. She jolts. I do it again, slower, catching every taste. She’s salted honey on mytongue, pure sin. I hum against her. “So damn good. I could live here.”
Her hands fly to my hair, fingers threading in tight. I hook one arm under her thigh and haul it over my shoulder, opening her wider, then seal my mouth around her clit. Gentle suction. A tease of my tongue. Her entire body shivers.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her. “Let me hear you. Give me those sounds.”
She moans. It’s soft at first, then turns into a desperate cry when I slide two fingers into her entrance and circle, just barely inside. Wet heat clenches around my fingertips like a promise. I push in slowly. Tight. Hot. Perfect. Her breath breaks.
“God, you take me so well,” I groan. “Greedy little pussy, huh?” I curl my fingers and stroke the spot I’ve been dreaming about finding. Her hips arch off the couch.
“Right there, oh god yes, please—don’t stop.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I lock my forearm around her thigh and devour her: steady strokes inside, tongue flicking her clit in a rhythm that matches the frantic flutter of her breath. I talk her through it because I need her to hear what I see. “You should see yourself. Slick and pretty, making a mess on my fingers.” I suck lightly, and her legs shake. “That sound you make right before you come? I want it. Give it to me.”
She’s panting now, fingers fisting my hair, hips chasing my mouth. I angle my wrist, curl deeper, and hold her there, my movements relentless. The room narrows to her heartbeat against my lips, the taste of her, the way she rides my tongue like it’s the only thing keeping her sane.
“I can feel you starting to clamp down,” I rasp, lips brushing her clit between strokes. “Yeah, there it is. Let go for me, Adrienne. Come on my tongue. Make a mess.”
Her cry cracks. The muscles in her thighs go tight as wire. I bury my mouth against her and don’t let up. I press, flick, suckuntil the tremor turns into an earthquake. She shatters with a broken, gorgeous sound, hips bucking, nails biting my scalp, grinding onto my face like she can’t get enough.
“That’s my girl,” I groan into her, working her through it, slow only when she’s too sensitive to take more. “Ride it. Breathe. I’ve got you.”
She pulses around my fingers, clenches, releases, and I feel every aftershock against my tongue. I lick her softly, lazy little kisses that make her whimper and twitch, then slip my fingers free and kiss the inside of her thigh, tasting sweat and victory.
“Fuck,” I whisper up at her, her release on my chin. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”
I’ve still got her taste on my mouth when I climb back up her body. I brace a hand by her head and take a second. Just to breathe her in. Just to be sure I deserve this.
“You good?” My voice comes out low, rough. “Tell me.”
She nods, then adds a breathy, “Yes,” because she knows I need the word.
“Atta girl.”
I kiss her slowly, letting her catch the rhythm of my breathing until I feel her settle, until the tremble in her thighs turns into something eager again. When I pull back, she chases me for a second, like she can’t stand one inch of distance. I get it. I feel the same.
“Hands,” I murmur.
She gives them to me without arguing. I catch both wrists and pin them above her head against the cushion, my fingers spanning her delicate bones. Her breath hitches. Mine does too. The trust in that simple movement nearly undoes me.
