Page 224 of The Wright Man

He kissed the softness of my stomach, every curve, every dip, every place I used to hide with high-waisted jeans and sarcasm.

"The lives you carried in here?" he said, brushing his lips along the lowest part of my belly. "They're your angels now. They make you holy."

I couldn't stop the tears then.

I didn't even try.

He didn't miss a beat—just kept moving, lower, slower, softer. Down my thighs, behind my knees, across my calves. My body was buzzing, electric, strung tight. When he kissed the arch of my foot, I whimpered.

At my ankles, he whispered, "Every step you took led us here, Angel. Even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones."

My entire body was shaking.

I didn't realize I'd started biting my lip until he looked up from between my legs, eyes dark and knowing.

"Stop holding back," he said, voice a low command. "Tell me what you need."

My eyes flew open.

He was still fully dressed from the waist down, crouched like a sinner between my thighs, looking at me like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear me beg for it.

I swallowed hard, my voice barely a whisper.

"Taste me."

His mouth was on me before I could even take another breath.

Hot, open, possessive. One long, deliberate kiss to my core, like he was greeting it. Claiming it. His groan rumbled into me and made my whole body jolt.

"God, Angel..." he moaned, drawing back just enough to whisper against me, the heat of his breath kissing every nerve. "You taste like everything I ever dreamed of. Sweet enough to ruin a man. Sweet enough to ruin me."

Then he went back in. Tongue dragging slow, savoring me like I was a meal he'd been starving for. He kissed every fold, every curve, every soaked crevice except for the one that was pulsing, aching, begging for him. The teasing made my head spin.

"Maleek, please," I whimpered, fists clenching the sheets. I was already shaking, already wet enough to drown him, and he hadn't even touched my clit yet.

He moaned into me, the sound sending tremors up my spine. "Mmm-mm," he hummed, refusing. "What'd I tell you, Angel? You don't have to beg with me."

His voice—low, rough, almost dangerous—flooded my chest with heat. He kissed my inner thigh, then buried himself again between my legs like he needed to breathe me in. His tongue danced slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. Still teasing. Still avoiding that one sweet spot on purpose.

"Tell me what you want," he growled.

My hips bucked. He pulled back, continued his torture.

"Make me come," I moaned when I couldn't take it anymore.

He dragged his tongue up through my folds, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Tell me you deserve it."

My breath hitched. I felt his mouth just hovering, his nose brushing the top of my slit. The heat of him so close.

"I... I deserve it," I whispered.

"Louder."

He kissed my clit. Once. Just once. A firework behind my eyes.

"I deserve it," I gasped louder.