His eyes narrow, but with no lack of warmth. “Do you know how much I want you, Millie?”
The raw feeling in his words embeds in my bones. He wants me as much as I want him. I’m sure.
“I think so,” I squeak.
He nods. “And you know why I need you to say it?”
Without even thinking about it, I do know. It’s because of who he is. Because of what I love about him. His integrity. His promises. His need to prove himself to me.
“I think so,” I say, emotion squeezing my own words. “I just… I just can’t.”
A thought brightens his eyes. “I have an idea,” he says, his voice as rich and decadent as chocolate ganache. “We’re going to talk about this later, but right now, I have an idea.”
“Tell me,” I demand. Because a girl can only take so much.
“Can you saySí, Luc, te doy esto?”
I smile, not needing him to translate. They are the words I can’t say on my own. But these are his words. His language.
Yes, Luc, I give this to you.
“Sí, Luc, te doy esto.”
Before the last syllable is out, he is on me, his tongue singling out the swell of my clitoris. He rides its slope. Sweeps its circumference. Multiplies its value. Until the sum of my cries echo through the room.
My climax is quick and obvious. But he doesn’t stop. He moans against me as I come, his mouth—my God, that mouth!—rearranging my axis, setting me on another plane. I don’t know if I can take more. The sensation is almost too much. Until Luc’s left hand coasts up my belly and cups my right breast, and the pleasure stretches out, equalizing while building again. I feel his other hand squeeze my ass once before his fingers glide down the back of my thigh, his short nails grazing my tender skin.
He’s awakening flesh no one ever sees, let alone touches, and every cell in my body tingles with life. Before his fingers reach the back of my knee, they reverse course, and I’m sure he’s calling in reinforcements. No one’s tongue can keep up this pace. It’s impossible.
I’m so certain of this that the feel of two fingers at my entrance sends a shock straight through me, and I let go of the comforter I’ve fisted in both hands. I trade the bedding for his hair as fingers slip inside me, triggering my tiny muscles to dance and quiver.
The man can build. And build. And build. Until the two fingers inside me say—the only way two fingers can—Come here.
Come now.
And I come. Again. And again.
Luc’s fingers are still inside me when I’m all wrung out. But he’s kissing his way up my sweat-misted body. Lightly. Slowly. Like he’s savoring every taste.
“Rosado,”he murmurs, kissing between my breasts. He looks into my eyes, and I swear, he looks so warm and satisfied, you’d think he was the one who just had three orgasms. He licks his lips. “Pink. Everywhere.”
I blush, going pinker. I take his face in my hands, and he kisses me. The taste of myself on his lips makes me clench around his fingers.
His breath hitches, and his eyes meet mine. “That’s so erotic.” He sounds awed, so invested, it happens again. “My God, Millie.”
A smile, lit by some megawatt internal joy, lights his face, giving me both dimples. But it’s like he has X-ray vision. The power to see—and feel—just what he does to me. It’s too much. Too one-sided.
After what he’s just done to me, I am wide open, defenseless. I’d give anything to even the playing field. Balance the scales. I need to watch him come undone. Taste, see, and touch the way he feels about me.
And that thought makes me clench again.
“Holy cow,” he marvels, propping his head on his left hand. “Do you have the strength for another?”
Before I can answer, he strokes me once.
“Gah! No!” I grab his wrist and free myself from him.
His chuckle shakes the bed. “Okay. Just want to make sure you’re satisfied.”
