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HOLY TOLEDO!
Ophelia
Tucker takes the lead and thoroughly possesses my mouth. I am held ransom to his dominant lip service, unable to concentrate on making too much sense of those words he just uttered.
This kiss has been waiting for you and only you, my entire life.
Well, so far, so good.
Slow and intimate is his game, tasting and kissing me from different angles, our mouths connecting to the beat of a sensual waltz before he pulls away to return to another area of my mouth. His hands are moving gracefully over my back, up and down my arms: his limbs and lips in sync.
Tucker is slowly devouring my soul like he has all the time in the world to prove his point: Tucker can kiss.
“I knew you would be delicious,” he murmurs against my lips while his fingers feather my cheeks like I am some delicate flower.
I moan against his soft mouth, wishing I didn’t because moaning means I am enjoying myself way too much and don’t want him to stop.
“Mmm…” He angles his head, dipping down to kiss my neck, which has me squirming against his body as his mouth licks and nips the side of my throat.
Tucker’s fingers lace through my hair, messing my mane up, guiding my head gently into another angle so he can regain access to my swollen lips, tugging slowly on the plump skin, coaxing a soft sigh of pleasure from me.
It feels like he’s pacing himself for a marathon, and I could stay riding this high from his kisses for hours.
I want to straddle his body, wrapping my legs around him, drawing my wet, throbbing, aching va-jay-jay to where I can get some friction.
Instead, one hand cups my throat, his thumb feathering my jaw while the other grips my waist, pulling me even closer.
My neck arches voluntarily, giving him access to the sensitive skin on the other side, where he repeats the same licking, nipping, and sucking, dragging me farther down the rabbit hole into a punch-drunk state of arousal.
What is this sorcery?
I am weightless, floating on a cloud of arousal.
I badly want to cross my legs, squeezing the life out of my girl bits because I’m wafting a new fragrance called “Eau de Desire.”
My va-jay-jay has a mind of her own, and she is a wanton bitch, craving lust and debauchery. She wants to climb his beanstalk, and she’s prepared to make good on her thoughts.
Down, girl!
“Jesus, woman, I can smell what I do to you.” His breaths are as wild as mine as we snatch pockets of oxygen.
Thank the heavens he resumes the toe-curling lip service, which is soaking me, and I can’t seem to care that Tucker knows it.
“Open your eyes, so you can see what you do to me, woman.”
“Nope.Ssh… keep on kissing me.” I sound like I have been smoking some wacky tobacky.
What is happening to me?
When you tell yourself you can’t have something, you will ultimately crave it until you appease said craving. Ever since I ran from Tucker at the rest stop, he’s been on my mind. He’s entered my dreams. I told myself one thing, but it was a lie. My body has been craving Tucker Royal. And like any craving, once you feed it, you no longer want it.
Right?
“Hamlet, open your eyes for me.”
“Nope.”Because then this is real, and it is easier if it seems a fantasy.“Ssh… don’t stop.”
Tucker makes a throaty chuckling sound by my ear while I reach out, wrapping my hand around the back of his head, drawing his mouth back to mine because he tastes so damn good, and I am starving.
