Page 84 of The Last Call Home
And then I drag my tongue back to her clit—slow, firm, claiming.
Not even close.
I shift slightly, my free hand sliding lower, stroking the sensitive skin just behind her folds.My fingers press in again—one at her core, one trailing to the tight ring of muscle lower down.
She freezes.Breath held.Eyes wide.
I glance up, meet her gaze.“You trust me?”
Her answer is instant.“Yes.”
“Then let me show you what’s coming, Lilah.Let me show you what it’ll feel like when it’s both of us—when Mal and I are inside you, touching you, loving you at the same time.”
She shudders.
It’s subtle at first, but I feel it in the way her hips twitch, the way her thighs tighten around me like her body already knows what I’m promising.
I lick up her center—slow and indulgent—then let the pad of my finger press against her ass, careful, teasing.Her breath stutters, her thighs quiver, and I feel her go still, her entire body tuned to the slow drag of my tongue and the suggestion of more.
“Think about it,” I whisper against her slick heat, lips brushing her clit between each word.“Me in your pussy.Mal in your ass.Both of us buried so deep you forget how to breathe.”
She whimpers.“Oh my God?—”
“We’d ruin you so sweetly.Stretch you open between us.One of us kissing you.The other making you scream.”I push my tongue down again, tasting how close she is.“You’d take it, wouldn’t you?All of it.All of us.”
“Yes,” she breathes.Desperate.Honest.Her hips rock into my mouth, frantic, helpless.“Cassian—please?—”
“Please what?”I ask, my voice low, rough, curved with a smile she can’t see but definitely feels.
She gasps as I push in deeper—two fingers sliding into her soaked pussy, while my thumb presses against her ass, circling, coaxing, filling her just enough to make her feel it.Not too much.Not yet.
Just enough to make her imagine it.
Just enough to make her crave it.
Her body jolts, her hips buck, and I don’t let up.
I suck her clit into my mouth, tongue working her over in firm, rhythmic strokes while my fingers curl inside her, pressing to that spot that makes her shatter.She arches with a strangled cry, her nails clawing at the couch cushions, her breath torn apart as I fuck her with my mouth and fingers and the dirty promise of what’s coming.
And I hold her through it.
I stay with her as she trembles, as she unravels, licking, kissing, whispering against her soaked skin, grounding her in the fire.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur.“That’s my girl.Let go.”
She moans like it’s been trapped inside her for years.
Like no one has ever touched her like this.
And maybe no one has.
Not like this.
Not with love and filth braided together like gospel.
Not with reverence and ruin carved into every breath, every stroke, every whispered word.
Not until now.
