Page 69 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Gray,” she warns, her hand tightening in my hair again.
I grin and blow out a stream of air that has her shivering, her hips bucking, grinding against my mouth.
“For someone who’s shy,” I say lightly, trailing my tongue through her pussy, “you sure are doing a great job of riding my face, Red.”
“I may be shy, but I still have thoughts.”
“Mmm”—I kiss her—“what kinds of thoughts, baby?”
Her cheeks go red.
Her hips buck.
“Gray,” she whispers.
“Tell me.”
Eyes on mine, shy, but not.
“Come on,” I cajole. “You write about this stuff, right?”
A nod. “People have sex, so my characters do too.”
My mouth curves. “Missionary? Boring Victoria-era sex?”
More red, her eyes sliding to the side.
Then back—again shy, but not.
I chuckle softly. “Not boring sex then.” I slide my finger through her slick pussy. “What do you write about, baby?”
She lifts her chin. “Lots of things.”
“Tell me one of those things.”
“I want you inside me.”
Heat coiling at the base of my spine.
“I want that too.” I suck at her clit. “But I also want to know about those dirty thoughts of yours.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Then she exhales shakily. “I’ll let you read one.”
“Promise?” I ask silkily.
Her eyes narrow. “I said I would.”
“Will you read it to me?”
Hot cheeks. Eyes gone shy.
Then she surprises me by saying softly, “Yes.”
My dick twitches and I stifle a groan. “First,” I say as I lean in and drag the flat of my tongue up to her clit, sucking firmly, “I’m going to make you come like this.”
Because she deserves to be pleasured.
Well fucking pleasured.
