My whole body seized, and my mouth fell open. My vision went black.
I came so hard I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. And through it all, he didn’t stop. Didn’t let up, just kept his tongue on me, working me through it, drawing it out until I was shaking and gasping and begging him to stop.
“Kyrie… please…” I whimpered, trying to lift myself up, but his hand tightened on my ass.
“Nawl,” he said, his voice dark and satisfied. “I ain’t done yet.”
And then his tongue was moving again. Slower this time, softer, like he was savoring every aftershock running through me. My body jerked with every pass of his tongue, oversensitive and trembling, but he didn’t care. He kept going. Kept tasting me like he had all the time in the world.
“Kyrie—” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I can’t?—”
“You can,” he murmured against me, and the vibration made my thighs shake harder.
I tried to lift myself again, but this grip held me there. Not roughly, just firm enough to let me know he wasn’t letting me go yet.
And then I felt him shift beneath me. It was subtle at first. The way his body moved. The way his hips adjusted. And then his hand slid from my ass to my hip, guiding me back just enough that I wasn’t directly over his face anymore.
I looked down at him, breathless and confused, and that’s when I saw it. The way he was looking at me. The same look he got when he wanted something. The one that made me forget why I was supposed to be worried about anything.
“Kyrie—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I need you,” he said, his voice low and rough.
My breath caught.
“What?” I whispered.
His hand tightened on my hip, and he shifted again, this time more deliberately. I felt him beneath me. Hard. Pressing against me through the fabric of his shorts.
“I need to be inside you,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “Right now.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Kyrie, your arm—” I started, shaking my head. “You can't?—”
“I can,” he said, cutting me off again. His jaw tightened. “I'm good.”
“No, you're not,” I said, my voice more firm. “You just got shot. You don't need to be?—”
“Sianni.” His voice dropped lower. Darker. And the way he said my name made my stomach flip. “I don't give a fuck about my arm right now.”
I stared at him, my chest rising and falling, my body still trembling from everything he'd just done to me.
“I need you,” he said again, softer this time. But no less commanding. “Please.”
And that word, ‘please,’ coming from him?
It broke me.
I hesitated for only a second longer. Then, I nodded.
His eyes flashed, and before I could say anything else, his hand was already moving. Guiding me. Positioning me.
I shifted, moving carefully, watching the way he adjusted himself beneath me. He favored his right side, his good side, keeping his left arm still against the bed. His hand gripped my hip, steadying me as I hovered over him.
“Take them off,” he said, nodding toward his shorts.
My hands were shaking as I reached down and hooked my fingers into the waistband. I pulled them down slowly, carefully, and when I freed him—when I saw how hard he was—my breath hitched.
