Fuck.
“Please.” My voice trembles. My cock is so hard, it hurts. I pull away, positioning myself back on my knees, and I give my length a rough stroke over my jeans. Movements are difficult. Coherent thoughts are even more impossible. “Please, Quincy. Let me—can I taste you? Can I fuck you with my fingers? Please?”
“Yeah.” She positions herself at the top of the bed, head against the pillows and long hair everywhere. Ankles wrap around my neck when I lie on my stomach. She touches my bottom lip with her thumb, a soft laugh escaping her. “You can.”
“What’s so funny?” I kiss her knee. I drag my tongue up her thigh, stopping when I get between her legs and blow a warm breath against her. The laugh turns to a moan, the edge of pleasure behind the noise. “I’m not sure I’ve had someone make fun of me while I touched them before. First time for everything, I guess.”
“I’m not making fun of you. I never thought we’d be here, and I’m processing. I like it.” Her hand moves to my hair, urging me forward. “I want you to make me come.”
“A lot of asks for someone who said they hated me.” I touch her clit again. I spread her open with my thumbs, another whimper working its way up my throat. I drag a finger through her entrance, pushing inside her until I reach my first knuckle, then my second. Quincy squirms, her gasp echoing against the walls of her bedroom, and I press down on her stomach with an open palm to keep her still. I’m lightheaded when she groans, loud and low. Dizzy when I get deeper. “You’re so wet.”
“Sebastian.” My name is a plea. It’s a good thing she said it, because I forgot who I am.WhereI am, too caught up in how warm she is. How tight she is and how well we’re going to fit together. “That’s—” Her hands drop to the bed and twist the sheets. She rolls her hips, trying to lift them off the mattress and searching for the friction she craves. “More.”
I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ll give her anything she wants. If she asked for the sun, I’d find a way to loop a lasso around it and bring it to this very room, but we wouldn’t be us if I didn’t push her a little. If I didn’t try to coax some feistiness out of her.
“What’s the magic word?” I murmur, hiding my smile in the curve of her knee when she mumbles out a string of curses. Myname wrapped in four-letter swear words. “Come on, Quinny baby. You can do it.”
“Please.” Quincy gasps when I turn my wrist and curl my finger inside her. “Please can I have more?”
This has to be heaven, and I’m in no fucking rush to return to earth.
I’m slow to add a second finger, careful when I press inside and let her get used to the stretch. I want to drag this out, to memorize every sound she makes, but I’m doing it for myself too.
I’m afraid I’m going to lose it any second. I’m even more afraid when I look up at the swell of her breasts. At the planes of her stomach and the softer skin at her hips, a place I’d like to grip while I fucked her from behind.
“Okay?” I slur, drunk with lust and the image of her naked body. Picturing what she’s going to look like when she comes. “Should I—”
“Perfect.” Her feet rest on my shoulders when I pull out of her then push back in, deeper this time. I suck on the skin near her hip, leaving behind a bruise I hope turns red and purple and lots of other shades. “It’s perfect.”
I slip my palms under her thighs and squeeze the handful of skin I find, glad I have something stable to hold on to when I scoot forward. When I dip my chin and put my tongue on her clit, grinding against the mattress.
“And that?” I ask, right against her. My fingers are dripping with her. I want my mouth to be the same. “How about that?”
“Even—” She reaches behind her, a hand on the headboard. Fingers curling around the top of the wood, hanging on. She arches her back when I lick her again, another swipe over where I want to bury myself and stay forever. “Better.”
“Too much? Not enough?”
“Sebastian.” The way she says my name makes me want to work harder. To get her there faster. “It feels too good. Like my body—”
“This is how it should feel.” I move my hands to her ass, squeezing once. I want that too. “This is how it’s always going to feel with me.”
Quincy trembles when I keep my mouth on her. I find the pace she loves the most, unrelenting while she moans above me. When she turns quieter and less enthusiastic, I try something else, keeping a list in my head of the things she likes.
She likes when I use my tongue and fingers at the same time. She really likes when I spit on her pussy and drag the saliva across her body like I’m painting a picture.
Man obsessed, I’d call it.
With a little caret above it, the wordunworthyin bold.
I can tell when she starts to come undone, the rasp of my name spilling out of her. It’s the last drops of a good glass of whiskey. The sun right before it sets, the whole world covered in vibrant yellows and orange.
There’s a gasp and a full body shudder. A low moan then her breath evening out. A bead of sweat running down her stomach as she squeezes tight around me.
I’ve seen her a hundred different ways over the years, but this one might be my favorite yet: Guard down. High on endorphins, and each roll of her hips is a new version of her I’m lucky to experience for the first time.
How many other men have had her like this? Jealousy rips through me, but it doesn’t stay for long. Not when she cups my cheek and lifts my chin when I add a third finger, chasing the orgasm out of her. Not when a look of relief, of gratitude flickers across her face as I whisperyou’re doing so wellandlook how well you take me.
Time blurs. I find a rhythm. Hours might pass, but I don’t care. Everything narrows down to her, and desperation claws at me.
