When she sees exactly where the constellation ends—high on my hip at the crease of my thigh, stars pointing inward like an arrow—something flashesin her eyes.
“That’s beautifully obscene,” she says.
“You asked.”
“I did.” Her hand wraps around me and rational thought evaporates. “And now I’m going to make you regret teasing me with glimpses.”
“I’m not regretting anything right now.”
She laughs, low and pleased, and then she’s pulling me back down to the couch.
I try to reach for her jeans, try to get my hands on her, but she catches my wrists.
“My turn,” she says.
“Marnie, I want to?—”
“I know what you want.” She pushes me back against the cushions. “But right now I want this.”
Before I can argue, her mouth is on me and my brain whites out completely.
She’s careful at first, learning what I like, but she pays attention to every reaction. She looks up at me, pupils blown wide.
“Tell me what you want.”
The question nearly destroys me. “Everything. Anything. Jesus, Marnie?—”
She starts slow—too slow, almost teasing—her tongue tracing along the underside before taking me deeper.
The heat and pressure make everything else disappear. My hand finds her hair, not directing, just needing to touch her, to ground myself in something real.
“That’s—fuck, that’s good.”
She hums in response and the vibration goes straight through me. I’m trying to stay still, trying not to thrust, but when she hollows her cheeks and takes me deeper, my control splinters.
“Marnie, I’m going to?—”
She doesn’t pull back. Just dips her head and takes me deeper, and that’s it. I’m gone.
The orgasm hits hard—white-hot and all-consuming. She worksme through it, and when she finally pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, I’m wrecked.
Completely, thoroughly wrecked.
“Come here,” I manage, voice rough.
She climbs up to straddle me and I kiss her hard, tasting myself on her tongue and not caring.
My hands slide to the button of her jeans.
“Your turn.”
She catches my wrist.
“I’m good.”
“Let me?—”
“Really. I’m good.”
