Page 82 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
I lick her slowly, the first swipe deep and unhurried, dragging the flat of my tongue from her entrance all the way up to her clit.She jerks at the contact, thighs threatening to close around me.
“Stay open for me,” I say against her, voice muffled by her slick heat.“Let me taste all of you.”
She obeys, breath catching, fingers gripping the sheets like she’s holding on for dear life.
I lap at her again, then again—long, slow strokes of my tongue, savoring her.I swirl around her clit, then suck it into my mouth gently, tongue flicking over it in light pulses.
Her cry is instant.Desperate.Beautiful.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur between strokes.“You’re so fucking good for me.So wet, so sweet.You gonna come on my tongue?”
She whimpers something that might be yes—or maybe just my name—and it lights me up.
I slide a finger inside her—slow, then deeper—and her walls clench around me so tight I nearly lose it.I curl it just right, then add a second, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
She’s gasping now.Falling apart.Her thighs are shaking, her hips grinding into my face like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“You’re close,” I say, sucking her clit again, harder this time.“Let go for me, Win.I want to feel you come.”
She shatters a breath later.
Body arching.Hands clutching the sheets.Her orgasm hits like a wave—long and rippling and so fucking intense.I feel it in the way she pulses around my fingers, in the cry she lets out as I keep licking her through it, soft and slow until she’s twitching and begging me to stop.
I press a final kiss to her clit, then rest my cheek against her thigh, grinning like a man who just got everything he’s ever wanted.
“Fuck,” I whisper.“That was beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”
ChapterThirty-Three
Soren
Her body’sstill twitching with the aftershocks.Thighs parted, slick, and glistening with the mess I just made of her.And yet—she’s looking at me like she wants more.
Like she wants everything.
I kiss her inner thigh again.Then another up her hip.One more just above her belly button, slow and open-mouthed, letting it linger.Her hand slips into my hair and holds me there for a second—like she needs to catch her breath like she’s not sure if she wants me to stop or keep going until we both forget where we started.
I look up.
Her eyes are wide, lips parted, pupils blown so wide I can’t tell where the storm ends and the desire begins.
“Win,” I murmur, my voice low, rough from restraint and reverence.“Taste yourself for me.”
She blinks, then stills—completely still—for one beat, then two.I kiss the corner of her jaw, just once, soft and careful, like a promise I don’t dare say out loud.Not yet.
Then I kiss her mouth.
Not gently, but like I need her to know—feel—everything she does to me.Everything she is.I kiss her like I’m giving her the answer to every question she hasn’t dared to ask yet.Like I’m showing her what it means to be seen.Wanted.Worshipped.
She kisses me back with that same hunger—I know there’s no going back.
When I finally crawl up her body, her eyes meet mine—wide, dazed, filled with something I’m afraid to name but would give anything to keep.
“I want to be inside you,” I whisper, my forehead resting against hers.“But I need to grab?—”
“My purse,” she breathes, voice shaky.“Top pocket.I have some condoms.”
Of course, she does.
