My eyelids flutter.
“I want you to ride my face. Would you do that for me, Rory?”
I nod, and he lurches up and rolls to the side.
“Thank fucking god.” Morgan stretches out, and then points to his face. “Suffocate me.”
I laugh, which only encourages him. He pats his chest. “Come on, get up here.”
I sit up and shimmy off my underwear and shorts before swinging a leg over his waist. He’s warm against my skin, most of my thigh and my ass resting against his boxers, but still feeling the heat anyway. Where my knees rest against his bare skin, though . . . it’s scorching.
My eyes are drawn down to the snake tattoo. One coil of the snake sits right against the inside of my knee. I reach out and trail a finger over the ink. Beneath my fingertips, Morgan hums in response.
I trace it to the front, where I can follow the V-cut down to his waistband. Morgan groans, but he likes it. He stretches his arms overhead, lacing his fingers together behind his head to allow me this interlude.
And then there’s the cut up the center of his abdomen. Morgan’s got to be the fittest person I’ve ever been with—not soft curves or gentle flesh. Harder. Tighter.
The pad of my middle finger runs up his chest. I raise up a bit, leaning forward, and trace another tattoo—the wings. I follow a feather until it ends, and keep going to his nipple.
When I run my finger over it, Morgan takes a sharp breath and I finally look up. His eyes are dark and deep, any traces of laughter gone. “Come on. Sit on your throne, my queen.”
My stomach dips, this intensity from Morgan something I’m not prepared for. I roll my eyes, striving for levity. “That’s cheesy, even for?—”
Morgan’s hands leave his head at the same moment his hips rise up from the bed and his chest bumps me. I fall forward with a squeak and Morgan catches my thighs, diving his arms between my legs and tugging me up to his mouth. I catch myself on his headboard and then I lose track of everything the second Morgan’s tongue touches my pussy.
I close my eyes and leave him in charge. Fingers dig into my hips, pulling me down, down, down, as he groans into me.
Morgan traces my opening, his tongue broad and flat while his scruff abrades my inner thighs. He pulls me down harder, and I think he really does want me to suffocate him. But clearly he can breathe, because he goes at it with gusto. He teases me, barely paying attention to my clit, and I think it’s all a ploy to torture me.
And the noises he makes! He hums and grunts and groans in pleasure and I feel every sound in my nerves. He flicks and teases, driving me wild.
Finally, he sucks on my clit, and I gasp and curl into him. One hand leaves the headboard and grabs his head, and my thighs tighten. I’m getting close, and I can vaguely hear myself crying out, maybe even—ugh—begging.
And then I break.
Morgan
* * *
Rory pulses above me, crying out and grinding against my face.
I’m in heaven.
I could tell Rory was worried about putting too much of her weight on me, but toward the end, she was pressing against me, mindlessly seeking her own pleasure, and it was hot as fuck.
Plus, I could watch her. Her eyes were closed, so maybe she didn’t realize I was paying attention, but her grip on the headboard, the way her lips fell open and she gritted her teeth, and the bouncing of her breasts above me was the best fucking view I’ve ever seen in my life.
There’s nothing sexier than seeing Rory Fox lost in pleasure.
I keep working my mouth on her as long as she lets me. She shudders and clenches and I keep sucking until she gasps and her eyes fly open. Her hand in my hair pushes my forehead away and her hips pull back, falling away and to the side. Rory collapses on the mattress, head down toward the foot of the bed, and I’m drawn back to my own body, my own needs. My cock aches and throbs and the full taste of Rory lingers in my mouth and her scent is all I can smell.
We lie there for a moment, both of us panting. I get up first, propping myself up on my elbows. Rory’s curled on her side, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted.
I lean to my left side and place my free hand on her hip. Her eyelids flutter open and she glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
“That’s a good throne.”
I chuckle. “You did a really good job sitting on it.” I run my hand up as far as I can reach, over her ribs and up to the small mound of her breast and give it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes close again.
