Page 76 of Ablaze

Dean crawls his fingers over the thin center seam of my thong, tracing the entire length with his middle finger. My toes curl as a heady sensation hums beneath my skin. He tugs aside the thin material and finds my swollen wet bud, circling it lazily as if time doesn’t exist. I moan outright at his touch, my breaths feeling like they’re being pulled through a narrow pipe, escaping in tremulous spurts.

His mouth moves to my other breast as his finger dips below, almost to my back entrance, taking my wetness with it. “Jesus Christ, sprinkles. Is this all for me?”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble. I can barely stitch sentences together at this point.

Even the slow, lazy brushes of his fingers feel torturous against my skin. Like I’ve been doused in kerosene from the inside and each flick of his fingers has the power to light me on fire.

His mouth finds mine again and he pulls me into another heated kiss, biting and licking my bottom lip. Without more preamble, he pushes a finger inside me.

“Oh!” I cry into his mouth, opening up my thighs as white-hot lust zips down my spine, pooling at my center like a lake before a lightning strike.

“So hot. So fucking wet.” His gritted murmur, along with the way his finger starts a steady rhythm inside me, has me climbing.

I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. “God, yes!”

The sounds of his fingers driving into my wet center, along with our heavy breaths colliding against each other, have my core so tight, I’m ready to combust.

He continues, adding another finger, and I dig my nails into his bicep. He lowers his head, kissing my neck, his scruff biting at my skin deliciously.

But right as I’m climbing to the zenith, ready to see stars, Dean slows his pace. My eyes open to find a smirk over his delicious mouth, his eyes smoldering. “Wh–?”

And before I can gather my wits about me, he crawls down by body, pulling off my shorts. He licks his lips before running his nose down my center, like he’s breathing in my scent. His eyes stay on me. “The first time I let you come, it’ll be on my tongue.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

DEAN

“I promise.”

“I promise.”

“I promise.”

The words spin inside my head like a tornado ready to demolish everything in its path. That’s what this woman does to me. She’s demolished my self-restraint, the promises I’ve made to myself every damn day, and my fucking sobriety. She’s like a liquor being pumped directly into my bloodstream through an IV, and I’m the drunkard who’ll never get enough.

I want to believe I’ll never break a promise to her–I’ve never broken one before. But fuck, how will we go back to being oblivious and platonic after this?

How will I ever wipe the memory of what she looks like, top to heavenly bottom, bare naked and writhing under me?

How will I erase the wet sounds her pussy makes when I wrench my finger in and out of it?

My mouth is mere centimeters from her dripping center, and I can practically taste her already. Will I be able to enjoy any other meal after I have the taste of her on my tongue?

Fuck!

Why? Why did she have to tell me what she did today? She could have picked any other embarrassing memory. She could have lied for all I care. But no. She had to say the one thing that would break my resolve. The one thing that would betray what she was holding back from me all this time.

That she was mine.

Even when she was with him, she was mine. Every moan, every touch, every fucking orgasm was mine. They might have been wrenched from him because I hadn’t had the fucking balls to claim her myself, but they were mine, nonetheless.

And that fact pissed me off.

God, I was angry. Not at her, never at her. That would be akin to being pissed off at the softest gust of wind.

I was angry at myself. Angry that I’d missed the signs. Angry that I’d overlooked what should have been clear to me all these years. Angry that it was only now, when she was days away from starting a new job–one she’d always dreamed about–in a new city, that I finally had the knowledge to do anything about it.

I couldn’t wrap my head around everything I’d fucked up.