Page 165 of Her Wicker Guardian

For a few seconds, he only looks at me.

“You opened yourself for me.” His voice is low, threaded with wonder.

The way he says it makes me ache. I’m naked and spread open in front of him, completely exposed, and I don’t want to hide a single inch.

Locke rests his hands on my knees and eases them farther apart. His palms are warm against my skin while he takes me in, and the sight of him there sends another slow pull of desire through me.

He bends his head.

The first stroke of his tongue pulls a sound out of me before I know it’s coming. He’s warm against me, the touch so intimate that my whole body seems to register it at once. My thighs tighten beneath his hands. Locke pauses.

Then he does it again.

Slower this time.

My head sinks onto the mattress. “Locke.”

He keeps going, focused and unhurried. Every time my body gives something away, he notices. My breath catches, and he lingers. My hips lift, and his mouth follows. A sound breaks from me, and he comes back to the place that pulled it out.

Then he finds my clit.

The first pass sends pleasure through me so sharply that one heel slides against the mattress.

“There.”

He does it again.

“Yes. Right there.”

A low vibration answers me.

I feel it before I fully hear it, resonance humming through the fine living weave of his mouth and into the place his tongue is touching. My hands clench the bedspread.

“Oh, God.”

The vibration deepens.

That feels entirely too good.

Every pass of his tongue comes with that low pulse beneath it now, touch and resonance layered together until I can’t separate one sensation from the other. My thighs open wider for him. Locke’s hands move from my knees to the backs of my thighs, warm and steady as he holds me open.

He’s figured out what I need, and instead of getting faster or changing what’s working, he stays with it, the same pressure and rhythm again and again until anticipation becomes part of the pleasure. I know exactly where his tongue is going next, and my body is already aching for it.

“Locke.”

My voice barely sounds like mine.

His answer is another low hum against me.

Pleasure draws tight all at once, holds for one impossible beat, and breaks. My back lifts from the mattress as the orgasm tears through me. Whatever I say disappears into a sound I couldn’t repeat if I tried. Locke keeps his mouth on me through every pulse, his hands steady against my thighs while wave after wave leaves me shaking beneath him.

He doesn’t stop too soon. That may be the thing that nearly kills me.

His tongue slows only when my body does, easing me through the last fading tremors before he finally lifts his head.

I’m sprawled across the bed, thighs still open, trying to remember why breathing usually requires so little concentration.

Locke looks extremely pleased with himself.