“That’s not—oh god?—”
The protest cuts off as my tongue makes first contact, flat and broad against her center, then pointed as I slide lower. She tastes like salt and heat and something uniquely her, and I groan against her skin.
“Fuck,” she gasps, her hand finding my hair and holding on. “Your mouth. God, your mouth.”
I work her slowly, methodically, learning what makes her breath catch and her hips move. Circle her clit with my tongue, then lower to push inside her. Back up to suck gently, then harder when she moans. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
“Tovek,” she says, my name breaking on the syllable. “I need. Please.”
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that makes her back arch. My tongue stays focused on her clit,steady pressure and rhythm. She’s close. I can feel it in the way she tightens around my fingers, the way her breathing goes ragged.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her. “Let me feel it. Let me taste it.”
She comes with a cry, her body clenching around my fingers, her hand tight in my hair. I work her through it, gentling my movements as the aftershocks fade, until she’s pushing at my shoulders with a breathless laugh.
“Enough. God, Tovek, enough. I can’t?—”
“Can’t what?” I ask, kissing my way up her body. My knees protest when I stand, but I ignore them. “Can’t handle more? Can’t take what I want to give you?”
“Can’t think,” she corrects, already reaching for me with that determined look that means I’m in trouble in the best possible way. “Can’t remember why I was unpacking. Can’t do anything except want you inside me right now.”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
I let her pull me up, settling my weight carefully over her as she works at my belt with focused efficiency. Her hands are shaking slightly, and the knowledge that I did that to her makes heat pool at the base of my spine.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she says, shoving my jeans down my hips. “This is a problem.”
“Easily solved.” I help her, kicking the denim away. My cock springs free, hard and aching, and she wraps her hand around it with the particular confidence of someone who knows exactly what I like.
“God,” I groan, my hips jerking into her grip. “Mei.”
“I love you,” she says, simple and direct. Her hand moves, slow and deliberate, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it. “Even when you’re being weird about nightstand drawers.”
The comment is casual, throwaway, but it makes my stomach tighten with guilt. Because I am being weird. Weird about the drawer, weird about the ring hidden under takeout menus, weird about the particular way I keep glancing toward the nightstand like it might spontaneously combust.
“I love you too,” I say, meaning it completely. “Even when you’re reorganizing my entire life without asking.”
“I asked,” she protests, already guiding me to her entrance. “Three days ago. I said I was moving in, and you said?—”
The words cut off as I push forward, slow and careful, giving her body time to adjust. The sensation is overwhelming. Tight heat surrounding me, her body accepting me inch by careful inch, her breath coming in short gasps against my ear.
Fuck. She feels perfect. Like she was made for this. For me.
“What did I say?” I ask when I’m fully seated, my forehead pressed against hers.
“You said—” She pauses, her hips shifting experimentally, and the movement sends sparks up my spine. “I don’t remember. Something about forever. You were being romantic.”
I was being romantic. Panicking about the ring, actually, and whether three days was too soon to propose after she’d just agreed to move in. Whether I should wait. Whether the moment would be right.
Not romantic. Very not romantic.
“I’m being romantic now,” I say instead, and pull back slowly before pushing forward again.
“No?” She wraps her legs around my waist, changing the angle in a way that makes my vision blur. “You seem pretty focused.”
“Completely focused.” I build a rhythm, careful at first, then deeper as her body relaxes into the sensation. “On you. On this. On the way you feel around me.”
“Good answer.” Her hands find my shoulders, her nails digging in. “Very diplomatic.”
