“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. That was?—”
I inch up the bed, away from him, terrified and stupid andembarrassed,all made worse by the fact that my tights are halfway down my legs and my sweater is pushed up to my armpits.
Kingston leans back on his heels, his knees just straddling my ankles now, the expression on his face somewhere between stunned and contrite.
“Don’t…” He closes his eyes, jaw tense. Then opens them. “I’m sorry. Don’t apologize. This is just…” He opens his eyes,blows out a long exhale, rubs his palms down his thighs. “I’m not acclimated. I…you caught me off guard.”
I’m leaning on my elbows now, throat thick. But I nod. “I didn’t mean…” Fuck. My face is white hot, my eyes prickling. My newfound habit of rotating sex partners notwithstanding, I’m not exactly…adventurous like that. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone tofuck mebefore in my life.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to.
Kingston glances up at me, and once again his expression changes. Softens, immediately. He leans forward again, advances so he’s looking down into my eyes and his arms are bridging over me.
“I hope you did mean it.”
Then he lowers his mouth to mine. I barely have time to melt against him when he rises, rocks back a second time. Half-upright, he reaches for the top of my tights where they’re now rumpled around my knees and edges them the rest of the way off. Then he shifts forward slightly, fitting his hands to my hips, holding me gently but surely.
“Can I?” he asks, golden eyes dark.
Heart hammering, I nod.Please.
He nods back. Curls his fingers around my skirt waist and slips it down, easy and fluid, and then comes back to ease down my panties after them. Then, with a steady hand under each knee, he softly tugs me to the edge of the bed, lowering himself to the floor as he goes.
On his knees.
I feel his breath first, gliding over the skin of my thigh. Then hands, easing my legs farther apart. Then, all at once, the press of his mouth, the hot liquid flick of his tongue, and?—
I buck.
Jesus, God.
I’m blind. Blank. Bursting with stars behind my eyes as he holds me, takes me,moansagainst me like he’s as desperate for this as I am.
And yet he’s patient, steady,decorouslyslow as he rolls stroke after firm, even stroke over me with his tongue.
My hands fist the covers, and I hear myself whimper. Almostwhine.
How are you sogoodat this, Kingston?
Then, mortified, I realize the sound I just made, and I bite the inside of my cheek, adding a hand over my mouth for good measure, even as I roll into him for more.
Suddenly, I feel his hand leave my hip.
“Don’t do that.” Kingston rises and pulls at my wrist, taking my hand away from my mouth. His voice sounds ragged, heated. “Please, don’t.”
I nod. Swallow. And this time I let my hand fall to him, to whatever of him I can reach, my fingertips grazing his hair as he?—
“Nnh.”
He sucks. Hard. And I have to I cry out—at the sharp shock of sensation, at the surprise of his force. In response, Kingston groans against me, the low sound of his pleasure vibrating straight into me.
It’s too good.
“Stop,” I gasp, somehow managing to lift my head. “Stop. Just?—”
Kingston ricochets back, the alarm on his face not quite reaching his half-lidded eyes. “Are you all right?”
“No. I mean. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” I nod, swallowing, scooping my hair out of my face as I push to my elbows. “I just want…”
