Page 144 of Bottle Shock
My breath catches. “Yes.”
His thumb brushes against my bottom lip before he gently slips it in my mouth. “I’ve been in here,” he says, low enough to curl heat through me.
He pulls his thumb free, dragging that same hand down my torso, smoothing over my hips until he reaches between my thighs. He runs a finger through my soaking slit, and the sound that falls out of me is immediate and involuntary.
“Here too,” he murmurs, mouth close to mine. “This part remembers me well.”
His hand lingers there for a moment, fingers slow and certain, like he’s feeling the way my body reacts to him. Then he slides his touch back—down the inside of my thigh, across the curve of my hip—tracing me like a path he’s familiar with.
“What about here?” he palms my ass cheek, rubbing soothing motions in complete contradiction with the wicked grin on his lips. “Has anyone ever been inside this tight little hole?”
“No,” I swallow roughly as his touch travel back between my thighs, this time going further, teasing my back entrance.
“Good,” he whispers, his warm breath dusting over the shell of my ear. “Then I get to be your first.” He place a soft kiss on my jaw. “And only.”
A tremor runs through me, fear and excitement tangled so tightly I can feel them in my pulse.
I know it can feel good.
But I also know it can hurt.
It’s a little taboo. A little naughty.
And those two things alone unfurl something low and warm in me—a wanting I’ve never let myself look at too closely. A desire to give into that pull, that forbidden want.
He must feel a shift in me, because his gaze turns to something softer.
“Hey.” He cradles my jaw with one hand. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. It doesn’t have to be ever.” He smooths over my cheek. “I’m just a feral animal when it comes to you. A goddamn caveman.”
I giggle, because he is. I never would’ve thought this quiet, pensive man would turn into someone who looks at me like he might lose his mind if he can’t get close enough. Someone who unravels so completely with his hands on me.
But now that I know, I crave it. And I want him with the same hunger, the same need.
“I want to try it,” I whisper.
His eyes flare with shock. “You sure?”
I nod. “I trust you.” And it’s the truth.
His breath leaves him in a quiet exhale. “Okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll go slow.”
I expect him to immediately get to it, but instead he places a soft kiss to my lips, like I’m something fragile and precious, his gaze so tender my heart stutters.
He shifts us, arranging me to lie at the center of the bed, before settling over me once more, his lips gentle as they trail down my neck, his tongue sweeping at my pulse points, the heat of his body enveloping me. His hand snakes down my body, stopping where I’m soaked and ready of him. He teases me, fingers lazily slipping in and out, flicking at my clit.
His mouth eventually makes it down to my breasts, where he laps at my nipples, swirls his tongue over across the swells, tugs gently at the rosy skin.
I feel him everywhere, like he’s purposefully overwhelming my body in delicious torture.
He reaches into the nightstand, grabbing a small bottle, and the soft click of the cap being flipped open sends a shiver racing down my spine.
The mattress dips as he moves between my legs, the breadth of his shoulders forcing my thighs wider.
His mouth closes around my clit, a slow, languid stroke of his tongue that pulls sound straight from the depths of me.
“Gav,” I gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets before sliding up into his hair.
His responding groan vibrates against me, deep and hungry, and I swear I feel it everywhere.
