"You like that."
It wasn't a question. I could feel that she liked it—the hitch in her breathing, the way her hips had started moving against nothing.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Good." I pressed one more kiss to her sternum, deliberate and unhurried. "Hold that thought."
I kissed down her stomach. Felt her breath catch. Her hands came to my hair and I let her keep them there—she needed something to hold.
"Gage," she said.
"I know," I said.
"You don't even know what I was going to?—"
"I know," I said again, and put my mouth on her.
She arched clean off the bed.
I pressed one forearm across her hips and held her down. Took my time here too—slow at first, learning the shape of the morning, the way she was different from last night, softer and more open. She was still sensitive from the bench and I felt it in every small sound she made, every involuntary pull of her hips against my arm.
"Too much?" I said.
"Don't you dare stop," she breathed.
I didn't stop.
She tasted like last night and like herself and I worked her slow and thorough, my hands spread wide on her hips, thumbs tracing the soft skin of her inner thighs. She said my name three times in a row and then stopped making words entirely, just sounds, honest and unguarded, the sounds she made when she'd stopped thinking about anything except this.
Those were my favorite.
I brought her close and held her there, right at the edge, until she was shaking.
Proceeding with explicit romance novel scene, Gage's POV.
I brought her close and held her there, right at the edge, until she was shaking.
"Please," she said. Barely audible. "Gage, please?—"
I pulled back just enough to speak. "Please what?"
"You know what?—"
"Say it."
She made a desperate sound. "Let me come. Please let me come."
"Not yet."
"Gage—"
"Not yet." I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. Felt her tremble. "I've got something to do first."
She lifted her head and looked down at me, breathing hard, completely wrecked. "What?—"
I reached up carefully and removed the cap.
Her breath caught on a sharp inhale.
