“Teague.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t stop. Her mouth moves lower, across my hip bone, and her fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and pull them down and the air hits me and I’m exposed and trembling and her breath is warm between my thighs.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are dark in the streetlight and she pauses there, her mouth an inch from where I need her, and I can feel her breath and it’s the most overwhelming thing I’ve ever felt and she hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Please,” I say.
She puts her mouth on me.
The sound I make isn’t a word. It’s somewhere between a gasp and a sob and it comes from a place in my body I didn’t know existed until this second. Her tongue is hot and wet and she moves it in a slow flat stroke that sets every nerve ending on fire and my hips buck off the couch and she puts her hand on my stomach and presses me down and holds me there while her mouth works.
She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She finds the spot that makes my legs shake and she stays there, tongue circling my clit, pressure building, and I’ve got one hand fisted in the couch cushion and the other in her hair and the pink strands are soft between my fingers and I’m pulling and she doesn’t stop.
I’ve made myself come before. In my room, in the dark, with my hand under the covers trying to be as quiet as I can be. I know what an orgasm feels like when it’s mine and only mine, private and quick and slightly guilty.
This is not that.
This builds from the base of my spine and radiates outward and it takes over everything, my thighs clamped around her head, her hands gripping my hips, her mouth relentless and precise and she stays with me through all of it, through the crest and the shaking and the sounds I’m making that I’ll be embarrassed about later but right now I don’t care because my entire body is coming apart under Teague Moran’s tongue and nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing. I cry out and shake as her tongue darts inside of me.
I come back to myself in pieces. Ceiling first. Then the couch under me. Then Teague, who has lifted her head and is resting her chin on my thigh, looking up at me with swollen lips and dark eyes and an expression that’s equal parts satisfied and intent.
“Oh my God,” I say.
“Good?”
“Oh myGod.”
She laughs. Low, quiet, pleased with herself. She presses a kiss to my inner thigh and climbs back up the couch and sits next to me and I’m lying there naked and boneless and staring at the ceiling and my body is still humming.
“Teague.” I turn my head to look at her. “I want to do that to you. Teach me. Teach me everything. I want to learn how to make you sound like that, I want to know what you like, I want—”
She goes still.
Not the good kind of still. Every muscle in her body locks.
“Teach you,” she repeats. Her voice sounds different.
“Everything. Show me what feels good for you. I want to learn all of it.”
“Zoe.” She sits up straighter. “Have you done this before?”
The silence is heavy and sudden.
“No,” I say.
“With a woman?”
“With anyone.”
She stares at me. I watch it land. Her eyes drop to my body, naked on her couch, still flushed, still trembling, and then back to my face, and I can see the math happening. The realization that what she just did wasn’t a hookup. It was my first time. She was my first.
“Shit,” she says softly. Then she presses her palms against her eyes. “Shit, Zoe.”
“It’s fine. It was incredible. You were—”
“You’re a virgin.”
“I mean, technically not anymore.”
