“That’s it,” I murmur against her skin. “Let me fucking hear you.”
I move lower, pressing kisses across her stomach, feeling the tiny shiver that runs through her when my mouth gets close to where she wants me most.
I spread her thighs and glance up at her. Her chest rises and falls too quickly. Her lips part.
I lower my mouth and drag my tongue through her pussy, tasting her. Her hips jerk and that sound comes out of her again. Soft. Broken. Mine.
I groan against her. I lick over her clit, before I take it into my mouth.
Her back arches.
“Fuck,” she breathes, fingers threading through my hair.
There it is. That sound. That perfect, addictive sound that has lived rent-free in the dirtiest part of my memory for far too long.
I grip her hips and my gaze sweeps over her as my tongue does every filthy thing to her. Her flushed skin. Her swollen mouth. Her eyes. Those fucking eyes. And the heat in my chest twists into something sharper. Something ugly.
What if I lose her again?
The thought lands hard.
What if this is all I get? This bed. This breath. This one stolen piece of her before she remembers what I did and walks away for good.
She has every right to hate me.
I lift my head as the emotion clogs my throat and stare at her. My hands are still locked around her hips.
Skylar’s expression shifts. Softens by half an inch. Just enough to kill me.
“What?” she whispers.
I don’t answer because how the fuck do I tell her I’m terrified?
How do I tell her that touching her is less about wanting her now and more about begging the universe not to take her from me again?
So I do the only thing I can do.
I lower my mouth back to her pussy, hold her tighter, and worship her as if I could make her understand every broken thing I cannot bring myself to say.
She lets out a moan, and her legs tremble around my head.
I keep my mouth on her.
Her breath catches when I circle her clit. Her fingers twist in my hair when I suck just hard enough to make her forget she is supposed to be mad at me.
Skylar watches me the whole time. Her eyes are half-lidded and dark, fixed on my face as I give her everything I have. Every lick and suck. Every slow, filthy drag of my tongue through her pussy. I follow every sound she makes, chasing the ones that break.
She gives herself away in pieces. A shaky breath. A helpless little grind. A whispered curse through parted lips.
I take each one and use them against her. Her body starts to shake beneath my hands. Her hips lift, pressing against my mouth, and I grip her tighter, holding her right at the edge, hot and desperate and so fucking close that I can feel it in the way she trembles.
“Oh…my God… Zane,” she gasps.
My cock jerks at the sound of my name leaving her mouth.
I suck her clit harder, giving her the pressure she needs. The pressure I remember. She arches off the bed with a sharp cry, fingers clamping down in my hair as the orgasm rips through her.
There she is. My fierce girl.
