“Good,” he said.
Then he lowered his head to my breast and sucked one nipple between his teeth, and I arched off the bed.
SIX
Haven
He wasn’t gentle about it, not exactly, but he wasn’t rough either—he just…he knew exactly what he was doing. His tongue circled and his teeth grazed and his hand came up to cup the other one. I grabbed the blanket in both fists and stared at the ceiling and tried to remember my own name, but all I could come back to was Wyatt Holt kneeling between my legs, Wyatt Holt with his mouth on me, Wyatt, Wyatt, “Wyatt?—”
“Mm.”
“That’s—it’s so?—”
He switched sides and I made a sound I would be thinking about at three in the morning for the rest of my life. Hopefully in pleasure and not in shame. Hopefully.
His mouth moved down. Sternum, ribs, the soft skin below my navel. I felt every inch of it. His hands came to my hips, holding me steady, even as I thought I might vibrate off the bed.
He dragged his tongue across my hip bone and my hips jerked up hard.
He pressed them back down. Didn't rush. Moved his mouth to the inside of my thigh and I made a sound I'd never heard come out of my own body before—high and desperate—and he pressed a kiss there like a reward.
"Wyatt—"
"Mm."
His stubble scraped my inner thigh and I gasped. His hands slid under me, palming my ass, tilting me up, and then his mouth was on me and my whole spine arched off the mattress.
He started slow. Tongue flat, easy strokes, learning what made my breath catch, what made my thighs try to close around his head. Every time I made noise he did it again. Exactly that. Like he was taking notes.
My fingers found his hair.
He made a low sound against me and I felt it everywhere.
"Please," I said. "Please, I need?—"
He slid one finger inside me and curled it and I cried out into the dark room.
“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ wet, Haven,” he said, working his finger in and out. I couldhear itin the quiet of his little house, the obscene, wet sound. “Soaking for me.” His tongue darted out to lap at my clit, and I spasmed around him. I’d lost count of how many orgasms I’d had…at this point, it felt like one long orgasm with no end in sight. “And so tight…”
“Give me more,” I begged, voice tense. “I can take it.”
He obliged, pressing a second finger inside me slow…so slow. I felt the stretch and my breath came out ragged—but he’d done this two nights ago and it had felt so good, and the pressure wasjust as goodnow as it had been then. I reached up to tweak my own nipples and I felt even more open, welcoming him in, begging him for it.
"That's it," he said against me. "Just like that."
His fingers curled and I sobbed out a breath. My hips rolled up to meet him and he let me, his mouth still working, his fingers moving in a slow steady rhythm that had my toes curling into the quilt.
"Wyatt." His name came out broken. "I'm gonna—I'm?—"
"I know." He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh. "Give it to me."
It rolled through me long and slow and I grabbed his hair and held on and shook through the whole thing until his fingers slowed and I came back down breathing hard.
He didn't move away. He kept pushing two big fingers into me…and it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
"More," I said.
He looked up at me.
