Page 119 of Better Hate than Never

“We’redoing this.” He presses a slow, tender kiss to my thigh that makes me feel a little more relaxed about having my vulva three inches from his face. Lifting his shoulders, he says, “Try tucking your calves beneath me.”

With a little shimmy, I’m closer now, and the weight of his shoulders settles on my calves. The pressure and heaviness make me sigh contentedly.

“What’s that sigh mean?” he asks.

I smile down at him. “It means it’s good.”

He grins up at me, something so young and sweet about it, I reach down and slip my fingers through his hair. His hands spread across my hips as he holds my eyes, then gently eases me towardhim, just enough pull to show me what he wants but not so hard that I couldn’t push away and show him I’m not ready.

My breath is rushing out of my lungs, not out of fear or anxiety, but out of a sheer thrill as I let him guide me down, as I feel his mouth, confident and sure, warm and wet, the first sweep of his tongue, its gentle circling of my clit, the way he learned after paintball, that night in the kitchen. He remembered so perfectly. I gasp as he does it again, a little harder. My grip in his hair tightens. “Like that,” I whisper.

He groans quietly, and its hum against my skin makes me jolt, then laugh in pleasure. My knuckles are white as I clutch the headboard, trying to brace myself over him.

He pulls away with a wetsmackthat sounds so intimate, those noises I think bodies might only make when they’re doing this. “Kate.” His voice is a rough rock’s edge, a bonfire’s smoky heat. “I saidsiton my face, and I meant it.”

I gulp, my fingers sifting through his beautiful dark hair. “But what if I smother you with my vulva?”

He grins so wide, it carves two deep dimples down his cheeks. “You won’t smother me with your vulva.”

“How do you know?”

“You won’t, honey. I could bench-press you without breaking a sweat, Kate. If I can’t breathe, I’ll move you, easy.”

“But it’s going to stress me out, and if I’m stressed, I can’t orgasm.”

He peers up at me, a little furrow in his brow. “How about a signal?” he offers.

“Good idea,” I tell him, my voice wobbling a little as he sneaks a kiss where my thigh meets my pelvis, then he nuzzles my clit. “H-how about a double tap?”

“Not on your ass,” he mutters, licking me again, kissing my clit in rhythmic, soft motion. “I’ll be slapping that.”

“Says who?” I yelp.

“Says you,” he groans, “judging by how much wetter my mouth just got when I said that.”

“Well.” I clear my throat. “I suppose I like a little spank here and there.”

He grins against my thigh. “How about a double tap on your leg?”

“Good plan.”

“It’s settled,” he says roughly, his hips shifting on the bed. “Now kindly sit on my face, and come all over it.”

I bite my lip, smiling at how much I like his words, their surety, like a hand holding mine not because he doesn’t think I can stand on my own but because it’s better when it’sus, on this path together. I relax my thighs, still holding on to the headboard with one hand, and let my weight fall more fully on him. A gasp tears out of me. It’s so intense this way, so wonderful.

Christopher groans so deeply, I feel it reverberate in his throat as he sinks his hands into my ass and moves me tighter against him.

My mouth falls open ashismouth makes me fall apart. Slow, velvet strokes of his tongue. Teasing flicks and hot, wet kisses that make my thighs shake, make my hips start to move on their own. But each time I start to get close to release, something manages to jar me out of it, whether it’s him shifting beneath me, triggering my worry that I’m smothering him, or a shift in my hips so I won’t get a foot cramp that makes that building heat inside me subside.

Easily, Christopher lifts my hips away and presses a kiss to my thigh, breathing roughly as he stares up at me. “What do you need?”

“I...” I slip my fingers through his hair. “I can’t focus. My brain keeps dancing away and it feels so good but I can’t stay with it. I’m sorry—”

In one smooth motion, I’m on my back on the bed,Christopher’s body over mine, pinning me to the mattress. “Stop apologizing for what you need,” he says sternly, softening his admonishment with a kiss. I taste myself on him and feel myself arch into his body. “Katerina, tell me you understand.”

My eyes slip shut with pleasure. “I understand.”

He reaches for a pillow and kisses me again. “Now, lift your hips.”

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