Page 126 of Bottle Shock
“Gav.” She sighs. “What if someone walks in?”
“They won’t,” I tell her firmly.
They won’t because I locked the door behind us when we stepped in.
She must trust my words because her thighs widen more.
“Can I have a taste, baby?”
She nods. “Mm-hmm.” And then bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes staring down at me as I drag her panties off before bunching them in my pocket.
“I need a palate cleanser.” I nip at her inner thigh.
My glasses fog up from the heat between her legs, but I’m too far gone to bother with taking them off.
Her fingers thread into my hair, gentle at first, then tighter when I drag my mouth closer to where she’s warmest. I hook my hands beneath her knees and guide her a little closer to the edge of the bench, dress bunched up around her hips, thighs open for me.
I look up at her over the frame of my glasses from between her legs. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling faster than before. She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Hold still for me,” I murmur.
She swallows and then nods.
I lean in, inhaling deeply, dragging my nose between her wet slit, dampening the tip. My glasses get hazier, smearing with the heat and slick of her before my tongue finds its favorite place.
I lick her slowly, with long, languid flicks.
She tries to breathe through it, but she can’t. A tangle of gasps and bursts of exhales float up her throat. Her hips move, seeking more.
“It’s so good,” she pants, voice trembling. “It’s so good I could cry.”
I glance up at her from between her thighs, my mouth still wet with her.
I press one last kiss against her and pull back just enough to speak, my breath rough against her skin.
“The only tears I ever want to cause,” I murmur, voice ragged, “are the ones running down your thighs.”
My thumb drags lightly over her slick skin, teasing.
“I want this pussy weeping for me.”
She laughs—half-moan, half-groan. “Jesus, Gavin,” she breathes, tugging on my hair.
That sound of her laughter breaking apart into a moan—undoes me. I drop back between her legs and keep working her, harder this time, until her breath hitches and the laughter dissolves into trembling, helpless sounds.
It’s not long before her thighs are trembling around my shoulders, her fingers are locked in my hair, sounds of ecstasy crying out of her as the orgasm rips through her.
By the time she slumps back against the barrel rack, chest heaving, eyes glossy and dazed, I’m still kneeling between her legs, hands on her thighs, mouth swollen with her, glasses ruined.
“That was nice.” She laughs—a shaky, blissed-out sound.
I drag a hand over my mouth, wiping at her release, even though there’s no point. It’s in my beard, on my lips, all over my face.
“I’m a pretty nice guy.”
CHAPTER 34
Scottie
