Page 98 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

She looked at her watch again. “Forty-three.”

“Fuck,” he growled. “Forty-three then,” he murmured against her skin. “And I want to touch and taste every inch of you. So please—can I play?”

Hard to argue with that. “Yes.”

He didn’t waste a second. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her breasts to his mouth, sucking with an almost greedy reverence, like he’d been waiting years just for this permission. His free hand slipped down her stomach, beneath the lace of her cheeky-cut panties, fingers finding heat and softness like it was his reward for asking nicely.

And god, she let him take it.

“Can I please taste you?” he asked.

“Because you’re being such a gentleman, yes.”

He was already cupping her hips and guiding her over him, while he slid down the couch, until she was on her knees and he was beneath her.

The position was new, indecent, and it lit every nerve she owned. His mouth skimmed up her inner thigh; teeth grazed the tender spot just above her slit, sending her pulse into freefall.

“Colter,” his name tumbled out.

He ignored where she ached for him, switching to her other thigh and repeating the same exquisite torture, and stopping just shy of where she’d break.

“Taste me. Now,” she demanded.

His low laugh vibrated against her, warm breath teasing over skin. He dragged her panties down her thighs until the tension stopped them from going any lower. Then his tongue slid up and devoured her—one long, slow stroke that stole her sanity.

He did it again and again, until her hips were rocking helplessly. If he hadn’t been holding her steady, she might’ve smothered him.

“I want to watch you touch yourself. Can you do that for me, Freckles?” he said, and the pleading tone in his voice stole whatever air she had left.

She dragged her fingers down her stomach, circling her navel.

“That’s it. A little lower. That is, if you want to go lower.”

“For you, I’ll go lower.”

“Thank you.”

Each word reverberated through her core, turning heat into hunger. His mouth stayed on her, tongue working her open, while her fingers finally grazed her pleasure point. He groaned against her—and only then did she realize he was watching, eyes locked, eating up every reaction.

Instinct told her to shy away, hide herself but the hunger in his gaze bulldozed every ounce of insecurity. Instead of retreating, she did what she’d never let herself do—she took control.

She stroked herself, back and forth, applying more pressure with each pass, while his tongue created its own cadence—deep pulls mixed with barely-there flicks that made her shake. Their rhythms aligned, built, tightened, until her thighs were trembling and the world went white.

She went off like a firework—lift, flare, shatter—then came down in sparks.

When the haze finally cleared, she was on her back and Colter was above her—condom on, body poised.

“Can I—” he started.

“Fuck the niceties and just fuck me.”

They both groaned when he pushed inside. It was perfection.

He was perfection.

The weight of him on her body. The stretch. The way he filled every inch. The gentleness of his palm cupping her cheek before he kissed her like she was his lifeline. She kissed him back, and they found a rhythm instantly.

It was unlike anything she’d ever known—languid and dirty, sensual and unhurried, erotic and tender all at once.