Page 99 of Feeling the Heat: Part One
She’s the kind of woman that inspires painted masterpieces. A muse that makes me wish I had any kind of artistic skill. I’ll have to beg Jackson to paint her in my stead. I can show my appreciation for her beauty in other ways.
Tossing her underwear aside, I grip her thighs and spreadthem even wider so my shoulders will fit between them. I keep my eyes on Camille’s as I bring my mouth to her pussy and press an open-mouthed kiss to it.
“O-oh,” she breathes, hands bunching in the robe at her sides.
I smile against her and set about my task, lapping up her slick and exploring every inch of her until she’s squirming. The goal of cleaning her up is futile, but a decidedly enjoyable one. I could spend a lifetime between this omega’s thighs, drinking down her heavenly slick.
“Ambrose,” she whines, her hips canting slightly to chase my tongue.
“Shh, just relax and let me take care of you,” I murmur, stroking her trembling thighs.
She forces her body to relax and I guide her hand away from where it’s tangled in her robe to rest it on my head. “Hold on to me,” I order.
Cock pressing insistently against my fly and pre-cum making a damp patch in my underwear, I use my mouth on Camille until I find a motion that has her clutching my hair and holding me close.
Fuck, I could come like this.
It’d take little more than a few strokes of my cock over my pants and I’d be making a mess of my fancy suit. But this isn’t about me and I really don’t want to greet the delivery person with cum-soaked pants. Or spend the rest of the night in sticky boxers. I’ve still got a lot of plans for this sweet omega.
“Shit, I’m going to come,” Camille gasps, sounding almost surprised.
A fresh burst of slick coats my face as she moans through her release. I’d happily wring at least one more out of her, drunk on her taste and scent, but the food will be here soon.
When she lets go of my hair, I sit back on my heels,grinning up at her. “I forgot how stunning you look after you come.”
A shy smile curves her lips as she reaches out to retie her robe and her eyes drop to my erection tenting my pants. “Can I see you come?”
My cock gives a needy pulse, and I consider caving to her request, but the intercom buzzes, saving me.
“Later.” I chuckle at her tiny pout. “If you’re a good girl and do everything I say, I’ll show you whatever you want, sweetheart.”
32
Ambrose,being the kind hearted alpha that he is, doesn’t ask if the delivery person could make the trek up to my apartment. No, he wipes his face off with his sleeve with a grin and tells them he’s on his way down, heading out my door with a spring in his step.
Ambrose leaving for a few minutes allows me to catch my breath from the insane orgasm he wrung out of me. The big alpha between my thighs eating me out has my omega on cloud nine, and I’d be lying if I pretended I wasn’t in agreement. Ambrose making me come on his tongue and the gentle but demanding way he handled me was even better than anything I can conjure with my hazy heat memories.
How I ended up with two of the sexiest men I’ve ever met being enthusiastic, skilled pussy eaters is beyond me. Must be the slick or some omega pheromones I’m putting out, because most of the men I’ve dated acted like going down on me was a chore.
I’m limp and sated, the prospect of getting up right now far too difficult. I know I should get out some plates and drinks,but my body doesn’t want to obey. My omega insists I should close my eyes for a bit and keep luxuriating in the afterglow.
I must listen to her because the next thing I know, the front door is opening. I sit up with a start, face heating with embarrassment as I watch Ambrose return with a takeout bag and a light sheen of sweat on his brow.
I fell asleep while the poor man went up and down all those stairs.
“Crap, sorry! I must’ve dozed off for a second.” I move to stand, but Ambrose holds a hand up and shakes his head.
“Stay there. I’m glad you didn’t get up.”
The urge to protest rises in me, but I swallow it down when there’s a flash of warning in Ambrose’s typically soft gaze. “O-okay. But I’m going to need to get up to move to the table, eventually. Unless you plan on carrying me.”
Ambrose chuckles. “You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it immensely.” He sets the food down on my kitchen counter and pulls the takeaway containers out of the plastic bag, scanning my kitchen cabinets for a moment like he’s thinking. “Are you a ‘eating out of the container on the couch kind of girl’ or a ‘needs a plate and proper seat lady’?”
I snort. “What do you think?”
By all accounts, Ambrose really doesn’t know much of anything about me, so I don’t know why I expect him to know the answer, but he doesn’t hesitate. Abandoning his search of my cabinets, he scoops up the food and sets it on the coffee table in front of me. “Drinks?”
“Just water is good for me. The stuff from the fridge door is filtered. I have, uh…a few cans of fizzy water, coffee, and maybe a bottle of beer? Hold on, I can?—”
