Page 216 of When Love Takes Root

“Red.”

She looked up at me, and whatever shyness she’d carried before was nowhere in that room. Her eyes were steady. Her hand was sure. Her mouth curved with a little bit of nerves, a little bit of mischief, and a whole lot of I know exactly who I’m loving.

When her hand wrapped around me, my fingers dug into the couch.

Not because I wanted her to stop.

Because I needed somewhere to put the part of me that had started shaking.

She lowered her mouth over me, and the first warm pull stole every word I thought I had.

My head fell back.

My eyes closed.

My toes curled hard against the rug, and a sound left my throat that didn’t have language, manners, or a single ounce of church decorum.

“Jesus.”

She hummed.

My whole body jerked.

The sound went through me like a live wire, sharp and sweet, and my hand found her locs before I could pretend I had control. I didn’t pull. I held. I needed the anchor; she had my breath breaking, my thighs tensing, and my hips trying to lift into the rhythm her mouth kept finding like she’d been studying me in secret.

She eased back just enough to look at me.

Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were bright. And the satisfaction on her face almost took me out worse than her mouth had.

She liked it.

She liked seeing me lose my mind.

That truth moved through me low and hot, and my jaw clenched as another shudder worked its way down my spine.

“Baby.”

That was all I had.

No sermon.

No smooth instruction.

Just her name caught somewhere between a warning and a prayer while she took me again, slower this time, deeper, with her hand working what her mouth didn’t cover and her eyes lifting to mine like she wanted to see every second of what she was doing to me.

My chest rose fast.

My shoulders pressed into the couch.

I tried to breathe through my nose and failed.

She hummed again, bold as she pleased, and my grip tightened in her locs while my stomach pulled tight.

“Celeste.”

My voice broke on her name.

She didn’t stop.