Page 84 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

She knew that he could see everything. Every slick, swollen crevice of her body, every hidden place. She squirmed, embarrassed but… not. He’d seen it before. Not like this, perhaps. Never quite like this, in fact. But he knew her. More than anyone else ever had, he knew her, and she didn’t have it in her to be ashamed.

His teeth were back on the round muscle of her ass. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what it would be like if shedidlet him bite her. She wouldn’t. She didn’t want that… right? No. Definitely not.

…Yet.

She wanted to tell him that she trusted him, that he didn’t need to prove anything, and had opened her mouth to do just that when she felt the tip of his tongue pressing against her cunt.

She sucked an inhale. It had been such a light touch. Tentative. Unexpectedly tentative, really, given how he had fairly devoured her moments before. And in the kitchen. And behind the shed. And in the cottage by the sea. She liked being devoured by him. This hesitant exploration was new. She didn’t dislike it, but it wasn’t enough.

She spread her feet as wide as the jeans would allow and relished the sound Callum made as more of her was revealed.

“Hold on,” he said through his teeth.

“What?”

“I said, hold. On.”

Jory braced her hands on the tread of the stair just as he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked. Hard. She moaned—a sharp, wild sound that only seemed to spur him on. He rubbed his tongue against her clit as he sucked, and she could feel the orgasm coming into view. She’d never come that quickly in all her life. Not even with the vibrator that she’d bought on a Black Friday deal the year before. It was pink and stimulated both her clit and her G-spot simultaneously and usually hurled her over the finish line in less than a minute.

But this? This was unbelievable. She could feel herself cresting the wave that would send her tumbling down the other side when he pulled back, dragging the flat of his tongue to her opening before thrusting it inside.

She groaned. While the denial of the orgasm hurt, his tongue felt so good. He licked into her and around, teasing. When she relaxed against the staircase, resting her head on her forearms, he moved back to her clit again and sucked as hard as the first time. She shrieked this time, and he pulled away, slapping her cunt with a short, sharp swat.

“Quiet,” he said, but she could hear the amusement in his voice over the blood pounding in her ears.

Jory panted, her breath coming in short gasps as he rubbed her clit gently with his thumb, the rest of his hand splayed wide across her cunt, pressing gently.

“Please,” she begged, twice denied now and becoming desperate. She wanted him to lick her into oblivion. And then she wanted him to take off those obscenely tented shorts and drive into her until she looked like a piece of notebook paper, lined, horizontal bruises down her body from the stair treads.

“I’m still proving myself, mo ghraidh,” he said, and she felt the words against her cunt.

My love.

“Callum,” she whined, pressing back, trying to force the contact that she so desperately needed, but he held her hips in his hands and wouldn’t let her budge.

“Soon,” he promised just before his tongue returned to her clit, drawing light, tight circles around it. She settled in, growing accustomed to the rhythm, letting herself become lost in the gentle waves of pleasure that lapped against her. But then she felt the sharp scrape of his fangs. They framed her clit, abrading the delicate skin as his tongue flickered gently. She couldn’t help but tense at the sensation of his fangs pressing against her. She didn’t dare move. One breath, one twitch, and he could?—

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “I promised.”

“Callum,” she sobbed, so turned on that it hurt, so frantic from three denied orgasms that she was nearly wild.

He sucked. Hard. So hard that, for a moment, Jory couldn’t feel beyond the blinding pleasure of her sudden, knee-buckling climax to see if he’d bitten her. She shook and cried out as the orgasm seemed to go on and on in waves as he knew exactly what to do to keep her coming. He’d always known. He’d brought her to the brink like this a thousand times. Not from behind and not on a staircase, but he hadn’t forgotten. How could he? She certainly would never forget the way his body worked and moved and pulsed beneath her.

“Enough,” she said hoarsely, her voice gone, and his mouth grew gentler. He didn’t pull away, but he pressed the flat of his tongue against her throbbing clit and held. The pressure felt good, the coolness of his mouth against the inferno of her sex felt doubly so, and she relaxed against the tenderness of his hold, his hands now rubbing up and down the sides of her legs.

And with one last, gentle kiss to her clit, Callum pulled away. He took the thong and slid it up her legs, guiding it into place with careful fingers before doing the same with her jeans.

He turned her, and she collapsed onto her ass on the step, sitting and reeling, watching as he dragged the back of his hand over his glistening mouth and then—fucking hell—licked it.

Like a siren song, she followed him, scooting down the stairs and willing her legs to support her in standing. She pressed his chest, pushing him back to sit on the bed. She grabbed the elastic waist of his athletic shorts and made to drop to her knees, but he covered her hands with his.

“Nay,” he said.

“I want to take care of you,” she said in a thready voice that she didn’t recognize.

“Stay with me.”

“I want to take care of you first.”