“Are you trying to kill me?
Because one of these days, my heart’s going to stop when you surprise me like that.”
He doesn’t apologize.
He doesn’t say a word, in fact.
He doesn’t have to.
He has that same look in his eye that he did earlier before he kissed me.
I can’t get over the thought that this is it.
This is where I make a decision.
I can either tell him to get this out of his mind, that nothing will ever happen, so he should stop thinking about it…
Or I can give in and take what I’ve wanted all this time.
Right now, with every part of my body responding to the way he’s looking at me, it doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice.
We crash together, his hands sinking into my hair and holding my head in place while his tongue does unspeakable things to the inside of my mouth.
Nobody’s ever kissed me like their entire life depends on it.
Slow, sensual, making my toes curl and my pussy throb.
He drives me back against the island, and I’m glad for it since it gives me something to lean on before my legs give out.
This is what I’ve been fighting against?
This almost painful pleasure?
It’s more than that.
It’s being close to him, smelling him, hearing the way he grunts, the way his breath picks up.
His fingertips massaging my scalp.
It all blends together until my body is on fire, my nerves tingling, my skin sizzling.
And I’m so hungry for more.
So tired of pretending I want anything other than this, always.
He finally lets me up for air, trailing kisses over my jaw, my chin, my throat.
I hold on to the back of his head with one hand, running my fingers through his hair.
I hardly recognize the sounds coming from me-high-pitched, desperate, pleading.
Much more of this, and I’ll come when he’s barely put a hand on me.
And then he does.
He wedges a thigh between mine, parting my legs, before rubbing it against my pussy.
I scrape my nails over his scalp before I can help myself, but all he does is grind harder against me.
Like he likes it.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?
Don’t pretend.”
He lifts his head, taking my jaw in one hand.
Stopping just short of squeezing my throat.
“Isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
I gasp, and now I’m rocking my hips frantically, chasing the orgasm just out of reach.
“Yes, more, please!”
“You want me to use this body, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“You want me to show you what you’re capable of?”
“Yes, yes!”
I would say anything, so long as he never stops.
But I mean it, too.
I want more.
I’ve always wanted more.
I want him to show me everything, all of it, how to please him, how I can be pleased.
I want it to be him who shows me.
I’ve never wanted anything else.
“Good girl.”
Before I know it, his hands are at my waist, and he’s lifting me, putting me up on the counter.
I don’t have time to be disappointed-I was so close-before he unbuttons my jeans.
“Lean back.”
I do as he tells me, stretching out on my back, staring up at the ceiling.
This is happening, it’s really happening, and I want it.
More than anything, I do.
I want his hands on me, easing my jeans down, running over the length of my legs.
I want his face between my thighs.
I want to hear him groan like an animal when he runs his lips over my pussy, still covered by my panties.
I know I’m wet, I can feel it, and he groans before pressing his tongue against the cotton.
I gasp in surprise, lifting my head to look down at him.
He can’t honestly like that, can he?
But one look at his face tells me he does-his eyes are closed, his expression one of extreme pleasure as he licks up what’s soaked through.
His groans confirm how much he likes it.
Loves it.
And that sparks something in me.
I want to give him more of what he loves.
I want to give him all of me.
I lift my hips without protest when he claws at the waistband of my panties, then spread my legs wide when they’re off.
He looks into my eyes, his brows lifted.
“Look at you.
Showing yourself off to me.
Spreading your legs so I can look at this pussy.”
His gaze drops to that spot, his lids lowering, lips parted so he can take short, ragged breaths.
“Teasing me.
Almost like you want me to lick you clean.”
It’s almost painful, the arousal.
If this doesn’t end soon, I’ll die.
“Please?”
I whimper.
“Please, lick me?”
“Only if you promise to come on my tongue like a good girl.”
My head bobs up and down, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll kill me.
I wouldn’t even care right now, so long as I know what it feels like to have his tongue on me.
He doesn’t take his time about it, plunging down, parting my lips with his probing tongue.
“Oh, fuck!”
My voice echoes around the room, then again, and again, with each lap of his eager tongue.
He knows just what to do, just how to use it.
How to use me.
This is what I’ve been missing out on all this time?
“So good,” he rasps before dipping inside again, dragging the length of his tongue along my slit before finally pressing it against my clit.
My hips shoot up, unintelligible cries pouring out of me.
It’s too good, too much-his tongue, the scruff on his cheeks scraping my inner thighs, his grunts of pleasure barely muffled against my dripping pussy.
I can’t help but lose myself to it.
“Zeke!”
That’s the only word I can get out before the wave crashes, my body trembling.
And he keeps going, licking me clean like he promised until there’s nothing to do but sigh in ecstatic relief.
I close my eyes, floating in darkness.
So that’s what it feels like to get eaten out.
No wonder girls like it so much.
I pull myself out of it, forcing myself to come to.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Is it lame?
I don’t know.
What do people say in a situation like this?
As it turns out, it doesn’t matter.
When I lift my head, searching for him, he’s gone.
I’m alone, spread-eagled on the counter.
Did I just make a huge mistake?
Chapter 17: Zeke
17
ZEKE
Of all things to wake me up in the morning, the one I expected the least was the smell of bacon.
She’s making breakfast.
Which means she’s probably going to want to talk.
Fuck.
I drop back onto the bed, my head hitting the pillow hard.
I guess it’s too much to ask, hoping she would forget what happened last night.
I lost my grip on myself.
It should never have happened.
I had no right to do that to her.
And something tells me I only made it worse by leaving her there while she was still dazed.
It was all I could think to do.
I didn’t know if I could handle looking her in the eye.
I’m not even sure why I reacted the way I did.
She wanted it.
God knows I did.
So why did I feel so guilty?
That guilt hasn’t eased in the slightest.
It doesn’t get any better once I’m up and moving around, getting dressed, brushing my teeth.
As long as I live, I’ll never forget the exhilaration of knowing I was the first man to ever taste her indescribable sweetness.
And I’m kidding myself, thinking I won’t taste her again.
Just like I was kidding myself when I decided that night in her bedroom was a one-off.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.