"Please."
He shifts down my body, and before I can process what's happening, his mouth is on my breast, tongue swirling around my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth.
The sensation travels straight to my core, and I make a sound that's half moan, half whimper.
"Victor—"
He hums against my skin, the vibration making everything worse—or better—and his hand finds my other breast, matching the attention his mouth is giving the first. I'm writhing beneath him now, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips seeking friction against his thigh where it's pressed between my legs.
"Please," I hear myself say. "Please, Victor, I need?—"
"What do you need?"
"You. Inside me. Now."
He lifts his head, and his stormy eyes are so dark they're almost black.
"Not yet."
"Victor—"
"I want to taste you first."
Oh God.
He kisses his way down my stomach, over my hip bones, along my inner thigh. And when he finally puts his mouth over my slick heat, I nearly come apart right there.
His tongue is skilled and wicked and knows exactly where to press, where to circle, where to apply just the right amount of pressure. When he slides one finger inside me, then two, I can't hold back the moan that tears from my throat.
"That's it, darling,” he murmurs against me. "Don't hold back. I want to hear you."
He curls his fingers, crooking them gently and finding that spot inside me that makes galaxies explode behind my eyelids, and his tongue continues its assault on my clit. I’m so close I can barely breathe.
"Victor, I'm going to?—"
"Come for me, Harper."
And I do.
I climax with his name on my lips, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips bucking against his mouth as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thigh.
When I can finally breathe again, I look down to find him watching me with an expression of pure male satisfaction.
"You're very pleased with yourself," I manage.
"I am."
I laugh breathlessly. "Come here."
He crawls up my body, and I can see the evidence of his arousal, thick and hard straining against his slacks.
"You're still wearing pants," I observe.
“Yes, I am.”
"That seems unfair."
