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The first brush of his lips against my clit nearly sent me over the edge. I had been anticipating having him like this too. Lying in bed next to his body and imagining all the ways he would make me come and forcing myself not to have the thing that I wanted. I had never been good at self-restraint, which explained why I’d broken the instant he kissed me.
“If I remember correctly,” he said, sliding his tongue all the way from my lips to my clit, “you come hard when I eat you out.”
I nearly blacked out just from the words. Gavin King was filthy. Something I’d forgotten in the intervening years.
“Isn’t that right?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I cried as he flicked harder against my clit.
“Tell me how you like it.”
“Faster.”
He did as I requested until I was panting and breathless under his ministrations. Then, as I neared the edge, he slipped two fingers into my wet, aching pussy.
I whimpered as he started a rhythm in and out.
“Imagine me fucking you,” he said in between strokes.
“Yes.”
“Deep inside of you.” He thrust hard back in, and my walls contracted around his fingers.
“Are you remembering?”
And I was. My body shuddered as the memory of our vacation washed over me. The feel of his huge cock inside of me. The way he had certainly known how to use it to bring me to orgasm. Like he was using his fingers and tongue right now.
I came apart in a mewling mess, shaking from exertion. I saw stars as he moved in and out twice more before slowly removing his fingers.
“Fuck.”
He smirked as he came to his feet. He worked his belt loose. The button and zipper went next. Then, he was freeing himself from his boxers.
If it was possible, he was bigger than memory served. The first time I’d seen his cock, I’d stumbled into him jacking off in an outdoor shower. He was leaning one hand heavily against the wall, pumping his fist tight against his cock and demanding an orgasm from himself. Then, he’d confessed he’d been thinking of me, and I’d been a goner. Just thinking about it now made me even wetter.
He produced a condom, sheathing himself with practiced ease, then settled between my thighs.
“Fuck, Whit.”
“Yes?” I panted.
“I’ve wanted this.”
“Me?”
“To own you,” he growled.
I raised my chin, defiance on my face. “No one owns me.”
“Then, I hope you enjoy watching me try.”
To punctuate his words, he slid inside me, and everything tightened.
I’d forgotten. Vibrators and toys and fingers were all well and good. It wasn’t like I was missing sex with a guy. If I’d wanted it at any time in the last three years, I could have had it. But … shit. His cock worked miracles.
He smirked down at me, stroking my hair out of my face. “Having second thoughts about my ownership?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
