Page 25 of Hers By Summer’s End

“Undo your collar,” he murmured. “The top button of your blouse.”

Her hands flew to oblige, and he indulged himself by nuzzling into each bit of exposed skin. He dropped soft kisses to her fluttering pulse, then down the column of her neck to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. Salty. Earthy. Cecelia.

“Like this?” he grunted.

“Yes—no.” She wiggled on the table. “Oh, stop teasing me, you wretch. Kiss me.”

The route to her lips was unerring. Unfaltering. He stroked his tongue across the closed seam, humming low in his throat when she opened and his tongue could slip inside to play with hers. The kiss deepened, moans and gasps slipping between them. He paid attention to every detail; how she arched when he sipped at her lips, how her knees squeezed his outer thighs when he tangled his fingers in the curls at her nape.

His body strained toward hers as if he were a seedling and she the sun. It was becoming harder to breathe, harder to convince himself a kiss was enough.

He wanted his hand under her skirts.

Hell, he wanted to tear the damned things off her. He wanted his fingers buried in her heat, wanted to hear her gasp his name. Wanted to lay her backward, spread her wide, and finally stop wondering what she'd taste like. That savage part of him—the one he'd spent years keeping on a short leash—was clawing to get out.

“I want to kiss all of you,” he muttered against her cheek, rocking against her thigh. “Every goddamn inch.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes.”

He'd tried so damn hard to be a gentleman around her. To watch his mouth and keep his hands to himself. But she’d said yes. The leash snapped. Now, he would dine on her flesh. He would memorize her mewls of pleasure.

He would make her howl.

He straightened abruptly, shrugging out of his coat and spreading it on the worktable behind her.

“Lie back, petal,” he said, the term of endearment sliding free. Good. He wanted her to hear it. To know the name he’d called her in his mind for years.

“Petal?” she asked, staring up at him.

“You’ve always been my flower.” He slid one arm under her plump bottom and lifted her. “My rose, my petal.” She gasped as he laid her down. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes glittered up at him. “I love it.”

With shaking hands, he gathered the fine layers of her skirt, petticoat, and chemise, and lifted them slowly. When they were high enough, he guided her hands to hold them in place. His work-roughened hands went to the muslin drawstring at her waist.

“Lift your hips, petal.”

He tugged her drawers down slowly, inch by captivating inch, revealing a soft belly, strong thighs, and a thicket of dark, moist curls. The drawers slid down her shapely legs, and then they were off.

He sank to his knees.

His hands shook as he cupped her thighs and stroked the downy inner skin with his fingers. He leaned forward into temptation and breathed deep, a groan of satisfaction wrung from his lips as he learned her natural perfume.

“I’m going to kiss your cunt.”

“Yes, yes.” Her legs moved restlessly before hooking behind his shoulders. “Now.”

He leaned forward and dragged his tongue through her molten slit from bottom to top. She let out a screech, her knees clamping around his head. He chuckled, his breath washing over her flesh and raising goosebumps.

“Again. Again.”

He parted her folds with his thumbs and set to driving her mad. He licked his way around her satiny cunt, learning each crevice and fold. Puckering his lips around her nub made her twitch; flicking it gently with his tongue made her hips thrust. He tightened his grip around her thighs and lavished her with the attention he so badly needed to give.

He raised a finger to probe at her entrance. Another shriek drifted to the rafters. Her hands dug into his hair, tugging sharply, pulling him farther into her flesh. He fucking loved it. He would gladly suffocate in her cunt, gladly devote himself to her pleasure until she had enough or he expired. She was a quivering, shaking mess, and she was all his. Her legs went rigid and her cunt tightened on his fingers as she wailed her climax.

“Oh my God,” she moaned, going still on the table. “Oh my God, Drew. Your tongue—oh my God.”

He rose to his feet, tugged open his trousers, and took his pulsing cock in hand. Her face—oh God, her face was flushed and dazed and sated and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.