Page 142 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“How’s that?” He barely moves two of his fingers inside me. They’re not even fully in. “Is that enough?”

With bated breath, I whimper, “More.”

God, what is happening to me?

“Beg, Hadley. How badly do you want my fingers?”

“Kane, for fuck’s sake.” I’m growing irritated, and he laughs at the impatience plaguing my tone.

“What did I ask you to do?”

Defeat crushes me. “Beg.”

“And is that begging I hear?”

I might just kill him before I climax.

“Put your fingers inside me. Please,” I relent, desperate for his touch.

“Such a good fucking girl.” His fingers dive inside me, stretching my walls, and I’m so wet they only hurt for a few seconds.

Pleasure envelops my body as soon as he starts curling his fingers in and out of me, slowly at first and then furiously.

“Where do you want my mouth, Hadley?” He continues to torture me until I’m seriously considering kicking him in the face.

“On my clit,” I surrender too quickly for my liking.

He groans in satisfaction. “Full sentence, baby.”

“Put your mouth on my clit, please.” I hate myself, but I need to come more than I need air right now, and I’m willing to swallow my pride if it means feeling his tongue again.

I nearly scream when he sucks the bundle of nerves between his teeth. His fingers don’t slow down, continuously pumping into me as he eats me out, twirling his tongue around the sensitive bud to the point of making my thighs shake.

I only realize I’ve gripped his hair and buried his face deep between my legs when he laps at my pussy and lets out a carnal laugh I feel in my stomach.

My impending orgasm creeps up on me faster than my body can handle, and I throw my head back with a quiet moan.

I tug on his hair harder, and he picks up the pace.

He pulls away a few seconds later, staring me dead in the eyes as he says, “Don’t come before the second verse.”

What?

That’s when his other hand lets go of my thigh and falls to the piano keys.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but his mouth is back on my clit the next second, and I take it he has no intention of answering me.

The melody he plays seems familiar, but it’s not until my orgasm reaches the point of no return that I recognize it.

He’s playing “I’m Still Yours.”

I can feel myself coming undone. “Kane, I’m—”

“Hold it.” He drives his fingers deeper inside me but abandons my clit, placing sharp kisses all over my pelvis so that I don’t come just yet.

“I can’t.” I claw at the piano beneath me, barely breathing as he plays our song.

At least, I’d like to think he wrote it about me.

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