I can feel the war happening above me without looking. This girl who never backs down, who called me a good boy to my face, who spent a year tormenting me across every room in this town. She's lying here with my mouth threeinches from where she needs it, trying to decide if her pride can survive the asking.

"Please." The brat is gone, replaced by something honest and open that hits me like a fist. "Please. I need your mouth on me."

"Good girl," I murmur, pressed into the crease of her thigh.

I put my tongue on her pussy and everything else stops. She's wet and warm and swollen from earlier, and the first broad stroke of my tongue pulls a sound out of her that I feel belongs to me only.

Colonial Competition in North America: France vs England

French Exploration in North America: Jacques Cartier and Samuel de Champlain

The Dutch-Portuguese War: Battle for Trade Routes in Asia and Africa

The Spanish Armada (1588): Naval Warfare and the Shift in European Power

I grip her hips with both hands because she's already moving, trying to grind against my face, and I hold her still because I want to do this right.

I want to take my time. Learn her. Figure out every single thing that makes her break. I won't rush just because she's impatient. I am also just not ready for my mouth to part from her.

I lick her slowly, long flat strokes, base to tip, learning the shape of her while she curses above me and pulls my hair and tells me things that would make me blush if my face weren't otherwise occupied.

I find the rhythm she likes. It doesn't take long. She tells me with her body, with the way she moves when I hit the right spot. I memorize the coordinates and stay there, circling with the tip of my tongue, but it has to be soft. Her hips buck against my hands.

"Stay still," I say against her, and the vibration makes her whimper. "Let me eat you like I want to."

She does not stay still. She tries. I can feel the effort inher thighs, her hips straining against my grip. Every few seconds she loses the fight and rolls up against my mouth, and I pin her back down and start over.

"Callahan." My full name, barely recognizable. "Please, I can't, I need you to..."

"You can. And you will." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, almost sweet, a counterpoint to everything else. "Be good for me."

She moans at that, nothing like the composed girl who holds court at Ruth's diner on Saturday mornings. I take that sound and add it to the collection of things I can obsess over.

I go back to her, and this time I don't hold back. I suck her clit into my mouth and push two fingers inside her, curling them up, finding the spot that makes her back arch clean off the bed. Her thighs clamp around my head and her hand in my hair goes so tight it hurts, and I groan against her because I like the pain, like that she can't be gentle right now even if she tried.

"I'm going to... Cal... I'm..."

She never calls me Cal. That alone tells me how far gone she is, the full name reduced to a single syllable because she doesn't have capacity for more.

I work her through it, tongue and fingers focused on destroying her as thoroughly as she has destroyed me. She comes hard, her whole body locking up, my name tearing out of her in a raw, high, broken voice that sounds like it surprised her.

I hold her hips and stay with her, gentling my mouth through every tremor, until she sags and her hand loosens and her breathing comes in ragged pulls.

I kiss my way up her body slowly because I like the journey and she's trembling under me. When I reach her face she pulls me in and kisses me, deep and graceless, tasting herself on my tongue.

And I lose myself in her, over and over again.

Lily

Sleeping?