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“Where’d you go?” he asks, pressing his mouth right under my belly button.
I start to answer him, start to tell him that I’m right here, but before the words can form he’s tugging my pants down my hips, letting them pool at my feet. And then he’s leaning forward, burying his face in my sex before delivering one long, slow lick to my clit.
I whimper, a high-pitched sound that hangs in the air around us as I buck against his mouth. My fingers clutch at his shirt, tangling in the soft fabric. The knee of my one standing leg trembles so much that the only thing keeping me upright is his hand on my stomach, pressing my body against the wall.
He laughs, low and sexy, at the breathless sounds that are pouring out of my mouth without my consent, before taking hold of my thigh and lifting me until my back is slanted against the wall and both of my legs are draped over his shoulders. I make a startled sound as he does it, shocked at how easy it is for him. At how strong he is. When I was touching him earlier, I felt his rock-hard biceps. Felt his taut stomach and his heavily muscled chest. But none of that prepared me for the way he just lifted me like I weigh nothing.
Then he’s licking his way back and forth against my slit, over and over again. Dipping inside just enough to make me crazy, circling my clit, then licking my labia just firmly enough to have me gasping for breath and arching against him.
“Please,” I plead, high and breathless, as I cant my hips against his face. Any other time, I’d be embarrassed by just how desperate I sound. How broken and needy. But right now, all I can think about is his tongue—his wicked, wild, wonderful tongue—and all the amazing things it’s doing to me. How good he’s making me feel. How close I am to the edge.
“Please, please, please—”
“You want to come, sweetheart?” he asks, breath hot against me and voice nothing but gravel.
“Yes. Oh God, yes. Please.”
He shifts his grip on my legs so that he can slide first one finger and then a second deep inside me. At the same time, his tongue darts out, caresses my inner folds again and again. I spread my legs wider, make a desperate sound deep in my throat as I open myself to everything—to anything—he wants to give me.
That surrender, that absolute abandonment of everything but the need, must be what he’s waiting for. Because, suddenly, it’s his turn to groan. His turn to clutch at me, the fingers of his free hand digging into my thigh hard enough to leave bruises but not hard enough to hurt. Not now when all I can feel is pleasure.
He circles my clit, flicks at it with the tip of his tongue even as he bends his fingers deep inside of me and finds my G-spot. I gasp as he brushes over it, and he groans deep in his throat. Then he starts to stroke over it again and again, while sucking at my clit at the same time.
I come whimpering and arching wildly against his mouth. His free hand slips from my thigh to my hip, and he holds me in place as he licks and kisses and fingers me through one climax and into another.
When it’s over, when I’m panting and shaking and trying desperately to pull myself back to some semblance of sanity, he presses soft kisses to my sex, my thighs, my abdomen before reaching for my panties.
“Let me—” I reach for him, slide a hand down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. I want to give him at least a little of the pleasure he’s just given me.
But he catches my hand, brings it to his lips. “It’s okay, Sage.”
It’s not okay, though. Not when electricity is still zinging through my veins. And not when he’s so hot and hard and obviously ready.
I press my hand against his denim-covered cock, feel the rock-hard length of him beneath my palm. He feels good. Really good. And he looks even better, with his pupils all blown out with desire and that heavily muscled chest of his rising and falling like a piston and all I can do is want.
All I can do is need.
“It’s not,” I tell him as I fumble with his belt buckle. “I want you.”
One big hand comes to rest over mine, halting my clumsy motions. The other presses under my chin until I look up and into those crazy beautiful eyes of his. “Are you sure? You don’t have—”
“I’m sure,” I answer fiercely, reaching up and threading my hands through his hair so I can tug his mouth down to mine.
Chapter 4
Shawn
She tastes like lemonade. And mint. Cool, fresh, delicious, and all I can think as I dive into this kiss is Thank God.
Thank God I followed her back here.
Thank God she let me kiss her.
Thank God she just said yes.
Sage’s hands are back at my belt, and this time she manages to unbuckle the damn thing—without ever pulling her lips from mine. Thank God.
She’s unbuttoning my jeans, pulling down my zipper, and I nearly howl with relief at being free from the tight denim. Then nearly howl again when her warm, soft hand wraps around my dick.
