Page 88 of Licks

I palmed his erection, brought it to my cheek, brushed it back and forth. The silk-hard feel of him was irresistible. A glorious groan hit my ears.

“I know the words to all your songs,” I said.

“I want to know the words to all of yours.” Grit laced his deepening voice.

It was an odd thing to say, considering my song-writing skills were up there with my whistling ability, but I understood what he meant. We were composing a symphony of short sharp breaths and longer sighs, guttural pants and dirty grunts as I took his gorgeous cock into my mouth. Our own love album.

“Fuck, Gwen.” He moved with me, gliding in out of my mouth. Not fast and rough. A slow slide, each one hitting the back of my throat, so deep I almost gagged. I wanted to take him deeper, though, give him more pleasure. The most. Drown him in it. My own desire pooled between my thighs.

I dragged one hand around his tense thigh, dug my fingers into his clenched ass. A strangled breath hissed from deep in his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop.”

His slick cock fell from my mouth, and I licked my swollen lips, loving the taste of August Cruz. “You’re saying fuck a lot again.”

“You inspire profanity, and you’re about to make me come too soon.”

He yanked me up and tugged my jeans down. I reached to undo my bra, but he slapped my ass. “This goes slow.” A statement. A command.

I’d never been so wet.

He dragged my thong over my legs, dropping kisses in its wake. He attended to my bra next, lavishing my breasts with the same reverent attention before sliding lower. My knees weakened in the best way. I gripped the meaty parts of his shoulders, smiled at the cowlick in his hair. The one I’d tug when watching TV, to annoy him, to get his attention, to pretend I didn’t love my best friend.

“Spread your legs, baby.” Words I’d never thought I’d hear him say.

He pushed me against my shower, kneeled, then hooked one of my legs over his shoulder. He trailed his tongue in a mind-numbing slide. The move was excruciatingly slow. He did it again, and again. I whimpered. I tried to move my hips, desperate for him to lick faster, press harder.

He chuckled against me. “So impatient.”

I was about to tell him where to shove his impatience, but he clamped his lips on me and sucked while moving his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all I managed.

Our limited sex vocabulary.

My hands were somewhere in his hair, my heart was somewhere in the clouds. We were somewhere in the world, but I had no clue where.

This. Just this. “That fucking spot.”

A purely male sound rumbled from him. He took my cue, concentrating his efforts where I needed him. His fingers joined the party, pleasure building. He was everywhere: inside my body, promising me a future, reminding me of my past.

Regardless of our mistakes or what lay ahead, we’d cope. We’d always return to each other. That security had my body relaxing, enough to shape my orgasm, fuzzy edges that sharpened. Good. This. Yes. More.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

He pumped his fingers and held me steady against his face. The next lick sent me bucking. I let go in a rush, nearly yanked out his hair as I came. The aftershocks ravaged me.

Gently, he lowered my leg, kissed the curls between my thighs. “You’re amazing.”

“I think I’m supposed to say that to you.”

“You can say it after we make love in the shower.”

He worked his way up my body, stopping to knead my breasts, suck on my nipples. I was even wetter than before, uncharacteristic for me. Some women could go for rounds, rack up orgasms faster than a credit card bill. I was happy to have sex after a guy went down on me, but more so he could get off. A thank you for his hard work. Not with August.

I wanted him inside me, moving with me. Filling me. Over and over.

He turned the shower on while rubbing his erection against my belly. He nestled his thigh between my legs, the two of us grinding on each other. Then we were under the hot spray, kissing, stroking, but savoring, too. Not rushing to join. I followed the water that sluiced over the lean planes of his chest, each crevice of his abdomen, the defined bones of his hips. I sucked his length again and bit his thigh.

He moved behind me, exploring my spine while I splayed my hands on the cold wet tile. Hot water plastered my hair to my neck. August squeezed my ass and moved lower, tongued my crease. A tease before dipping farther south and kissing the backs of my thighs and knees.

Knees shouldn’t be erotic. Neither should elbows or ribs. August’s devout attention turned every inch of flesh into a G-spot. An E-spot. An R-spot.