His eyes flash and tighten. “Nothing about you is gross.”
He kisses the black silk between my legs, then gently uses his teeth to bite the fabric, pulling my underwear away from my skin, dragging it down my thighs. He looks away long enough to remove my underwear completely. But his eyes lock with mine a moment later.
This is happening. He wants this to happen. I can see it in the hungry way he’s looking at me. He kisses one thigh, then lifts it and drapes it over his shoulder.Kisses the other and does the same. All the while, holding eye contact. Melting me with his gaze.
He moans my name, breath warm against me. He presses a firm kiss against my clit and then his tongue parts me. Slow lapping licks that turn greedy and ravenous. Teeth scrapping. Lips sucking. Swirling a tight circle, flicking, dipping.
My eyes roll closed. Music. Clanking dishes. Talking. Laughter. We shouldn’t be doing this now, right here. But his fingers are digging into my thighs and his tongue?—
“Hazel.”
He licks me again, flicking over my clit. Oh, that tongue. Nothing has ever felt as good as that wicked, wicked tongue. I gasp. He stops.
“Hazel, darling, you need to look at me.” His voice is ragged with want, but demanding.
I suddenly realize my eyes are closed. I sit up and jerk away. Shit.
What if his sister heard me moan? What if his mom did? This isn’t like me. I don’t get carried away like this. We’re adults. We can wait until we’re alone, keep a hold on ourselves for one dinner. This can wait. I move to stand, but his hands are firm against my thighs, holding me in place, unyielding.
“You asked if men really like going down on a woman,” he says, suddenly serious. “I can’t speak for all men, but I fucking love the taste of you, and I’m not done yet.”
Every part of me flushes, warm and tight.
“Just look at me, darling, okay?” He licks me witha smile, eyes locked on mine. It’s intimate in a way that’s almost unbearably hot. My breath hitches, heaves, heart pounding as each caress of his tongue becomes more urgent, sparking something wild inside me.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s my girl. All you have to do is relax and look at me.”
So, I do.
“Good girl,” he says before working me over even more eagerly.
My whole body has a visceral reaction to those two small words, the praise so rare and hard to come by. It does something to me that throws me almost immediately over the edge.
I can barely maintain eye contact. White spots cloud my vision, my toes curl as everything tenses in pleasure. Shaking. Shuddering. Shattering. Ruined.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We come down the stairs just as Camilla brings the last dish out to the table. It looks like Thanksgiving or a medieval banquet. There’s far more food than one family can eat at a single meal. She must have been cooking all afternoon. I can’t believe this is a weekly thing.
“They’ll take leftovers and eat off them for the rest of the week. It’s the only way my stubborn children let me help them,” Camilla whispers, clearly picking up on my surprise.
The table has two long benches on either side and a chair at each end. Riley is seated on one bench, and Cosmos and I take the other. The end of the table closest to us has an empty wine glass, but no plate setting.
“Where’s Julia?” Cosmos asks.
“On her way.”
“And Ivy?” he adds.
Camilla makes the sign of the cross and looks up at the ceiling. “Lord knows.” She doesn’t say it sarcastically, but with genuine belief. That’s when I notice the crosses and icons on the wall and wonder if Cosmos is Catholic, or was at least raised Catholic.
He mutters under his breath, but all I make out is something that sounds like Mack, which I think was Ivy’s boyfriend’s name.
“Have you met him yet?” Camilla asks Cosmos, clearly making the same guess.
“He’s very handsy,” Cosmos grumbles.
The woman I saw upstairs appears in the doorway, carrying a casserole dish from the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I talked to her about birth control.”
