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His Leila.
Mine.
She was his tonight.
And his body knew it.
He was hard as stone, barely holding back from tearing off her clothes and thrusting into her in one swift motion.
But she deserved better. Much better.
And so did he.
He wanted to explore her completely. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to show her a pleasure she hadn’t known before, and he wanted to experience it with her. To see the wonder in her eyes. To hold her close as she fell apart and was put back together.
By him.
He made quick work of the fastenings on her breeches, and a moment later they were gone, along with her stockings, leaving her completely bare beneath him.
He slowly skimmed her skin with his hands, gliding up her legs, exploring her thighs, then gently nudging them apart.
When he looked up at her, he saw the same hunger in her eyes that raged inside him.
His gaze never left hers as his hands settled on her hips while his mouth moved higher—pressing kisses to her knees, and higher still, to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
He gently spread her open wider, watching her hazy gaze. Then slowly, softly, he kissed her center.
She jerked in response, her hips lifting, eyes wide with surprise. He held her firmly, his eyes searching hers.
“Gideon,” she breathed, her gaze questioning, confused.
Had she never been touched this way before?
Never been worshipped the way he wanted to worship her? Tasted the way he needed to devour her?
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice husky. “Tell me what you need.”
She blinked, her breathing labored, before she threw her head back, relaxing. “I—I just want you.”
That simple admission nearly undid him.
He was already hard, hot, trembling from how badly he needed her. How badly he wanted to know her taste.
He lowered his head and licked between her folds. She nearly flew off the ground again. He held her hips in place with one hand while his other joined his tongue, plunging his fingers inside her, working her, exploring her, devouring her.
Her taste drove him mad.
He growled, an animal possessed, desperate for more—more of her taste, more of the sounds she made, more of the way she moved in his arms.
She twisted and writhed beneath him, her fingers buried in his hair, tugging him closer, holding on as if she might drift away without him.
“Let go,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “I want to see you come apart in my arms.”
He continued licking her, drinking her in with renewed vigor when she made a small sound—half gasp, half moan—and he felt her pulse around his fingers.
Her inner walls clenched, and he quickened his rhythm, drawing careful, deliberate circles with his tongue.
God, the way you taste…
