Page 155 of Seven Lost Summers
Theo’s arms come around me, drawing me in. He turns us toward the bed and lowers me down, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. He stays there, close enough for his breath to ghost my mouth, but he doesn’t close the gap. Not yet. He looks at me… really looks, his gaze roaming over my face as if he’s committing every detail to memory before he lets himself take more.
His hands slide to the hem of my shirt. The fabric gathers in his fingers, rising slow over my stomach, ribs, and breasts. He sits me up only long enough to peel it over my head, tossing it aside before laying me back down.
The clasp of my bra snaps open beneath his fingers. The straps slide from my shoulders, and his head dips, his mouth brushing the newly bared skin in slow, claiming kisses. His tongue traces the curve beneath my breast, and his lips close over the tight peak. The pull of his mouth sends a sharp rush of heat straight between my legs, causing my back to arch into him.
He doesn’t rush. He takes his fucking time. He moves from one breast to the other, leaving my skin damp from his mouth, lips dragging lazy and wet, sucking and teasing until my breath becomes uneven.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against me.
He tips his head, meets my eyes, and doesn’t look away.
There’s a softness that rattles something deep in me, something I’m not ready to name. He isn’t performing. He isn’t hiding behind some flirty grin or careless lines. He’s right here, anchored in this moment with me, and he wants me to see it.
His mouth moves lower, lips brushing my stomach in slow, open-mouthed kisses, each one landing further south than the last. His breath skims my skin, warm enough to make me shiver. His fingers find the button on my jeans. The metal pops under his touch. He draws the zipper down in a steady pull, the sound of it dragging over my nerves, making my pulse slam.
He grips the waistband and eases them down my hips. The denim drags against my skin, slow enough that I feel every inch of it leaving me. My panties go with them, the lace catching for a heartbeat before he works them past my knees, down my calves, until I’m bare in front of him.
Theo straightens, standing at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed between my thighs. His throat works as he swallows, his jaw flexing once. There’s hunger in his eyes, but also something patient—as if he’s taking his time because he knows he’ll never forget the sight of me spread out for him.
The weight of that stare shoots straight through me.
My clit pulses, an ache blooming until I’m squirming under it, needing him to close the distance.
“Spread for me,” he says, voice threaded with that filthy command I’ve always been powerless against. “I want to see everything I get to touch.”
I let my knees fall open, and watch the way his gaze drags down to where I’m already wet for him. His breath leaves him in a slow exhale.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”
He drops to his knees between my thighs, and the sight alone sends a rush through my veins. His hands drag up my legs in a slow, claiming sweep, the heat of his palms branding me as his.
He’s so fucking close I can sense the heat of his mouth, but he doesn’t touch where I need him most. Not yet. He holds me open, forcing me to take the weight of his control, making it clear this isn’t about me telling him what I want—this is about him giving it when he’s ready.
His breath hits the crease of my thigh, hot and teasing, and then his mouth is on me, pressing a slow kiss into my skin. My nails dig into the sheets. He moves to the other side, doing it again, sucking hard enough to leave heat behind. By the time his mouth drags higher, my hips are arching without my permission, chasing him like I’m already addicted.
And fuck, his tongue is between my folds, tracing me in one long, wet stroke from my entrance to my clit. I twitch under him, a soft moan catching in my throat. He stays low, circling my entrance with slow, lazy swirls before pushing his tongue inside. The wet slide of it makes my pussy squeeze around him, desperate for more, and he groans like he fucking feels it.
When he pulls out, I’m seconds from begging, but he moves higher, finally finding my clit. He flattens his tongue over it, dragging slow, heavy strokes that make my back arch. Every pass is deliberate, controlled—enough to get me shaking, nowhere near enough to let me come.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against me, before his mouth seals over my clit. He sucks deep, like he’s trying to drink me down. My hips jerk into his face, but his hands are already gripping my thighs, pinning me to the mattress.
Theo’s tongue flicks in short, perfect strokes before circling my clit in tight, ruthless loops that make my voice break on his name. The heat builds sharp and fast, the kind that makes my thighs tremble and my pussy ache to be fucked.
He groans again, the vibration shooting through my core. “Yeah… give me that. Get my face wet.”
His tongue fucks me harder now, faster, his lips sucking around my clit until the pressure turns unbearable.
It’s dirty.
Obscene.
So fucking good I’d stay here all night, letting him tear me apart, just to feel him crawl up my body and fuck me with that same ruthless precision.
Every now and then he pulls back, chin slick with my wetness, eyes locked on mine with that unblinking, predatory focus.
My body arches toward him, desperate to fuck myself on his mouth, and he answers with a deeper suck on my clit that has me moaning loud enough to echo in this quiet room.
“Good,” he growls against me. “That’s it. Give it to me. I want every fucking drop.”
