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He pauses and I moan in displeasure, tugging on his short hair as I tilt my head to look down at him. He’s looking up at me. A sexy, almost punishing smile dominates his face.
The sight of him between my thighs, his delicious lips slick and glistening with my arousal and only inches from my sex, nearly incinerates me.
“The name’s Twist or Oliver. I generally don’t go by Jesus.”
Loud, rough laughter tears from my parted lips, and the fingers of one of his hands dig possessively into my pale thigh.
“Don’t do this to me.” My fingers tighten their hold on his hair, impatient and imploring.
“Do what?” He rises slightly, a slow hiss escaping his mouth when I don’t let go of even a strand.
“Don’t play games. Don’t stop.” Lightly, I pull his hair and buck my hips in his direction. “I can go on but don’t want to. I’d rather have your mouth on me. You promised.”
I sound like a whiny, entitled brat and I can’t seem to care. He’s torturing me and I need it to stop. I need him.
As if sensing I’m on the brink of losing my patience, Oliver lowers himself toward my sex, lips seeking the inside of my thigh to plant a soft kiss. “That’s what I want to hear, and Wren, I never break a promise.”
My fingers finally release his hair, pussy throbbing as his tongue licks along my thigh, closer to where I ache for him.
“Your legs are fucking phenomenal.” His mouth moves to my other thigh, licking and kissing the burning flesh. “Spread them wider.”
Eager for him, I readily do so, legs parting as far as possible within the confines of the blankets. His gaze covets my pussy, pupils dark and simmering, while his hands anchor my legs apart.
“What is it with us and the dark?” He chuckles dryly. “I want to see you.”
I half laugh, half cry at how right he is. “This is another reason why the bed would’ve been better. Lights.”
“You want to go inside?” His sincerity is palpable, even as one of his big, skilled hands drifts under my sweatshirt, up my stomach and ribs to palm my breast.
Oliver would stop everything to move us inside if that’s what I wanted, but I no longer care about where we are or the temperature or anything else but this man. I’m not willing to wait a second longer.
Euphoria skitters through me, hips arching upward once more, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “No. Please. Oliver, don’t make me wait any longer.”
Without another word, his lips are on my clit, and he alternates between sucking slow and gentle to hard and intensely demanding. My hips thrust into his face, legs trying to thrash from side to side, but he holds me firmly in place. All the while, his lips, his tongue, the way he’s devouring me bring me to the edge in no time.
He dips his tongue inside me, thrusting in and out, and my pulse skips a beat only to then skyrocket when he inserts not one but two fingers.
“God, Oliver.”
Mouth still on me, his tongue laves and sucks my clit until mesmerizing bright lights dance on the backs of my eyelids. My muscles spasm, core clenching, as I lose myself. It’s like I’m melting into an inviting hot tub at the blinding heat curling low in my belly.
So attuned to my body, Oliver doesn’t completely stop. He gently presses soft kisses on my pussy, then pulls the blankets over me and comes to lie next to me.
I roll into him and bury my face in his chest, my body molten lava. He smells so good, and it helps to ground me, piece me together into one solid state.
“Every inch of you tastes so good.” He kisses the top of my head. “I can’t get enough.”
My hand wanders down his body to where he’s still hard. I grab the elastic of his sweats, and before I can go any farther, Oliver stops me. “Uh-uh. Not tonight.”
“But—”
“No buts. I wanted to give this to you. Trust me, I got just as much out of it as you did.”
I snort and roll my eyes, loving the sentiment even if not convinced. “What if I said I wanted to?”
“Then I’d ask for a raincheck.” He drags my hand up to his chest. “Do you have any leftover pot pie?”
“What?” I pull up onto my elbow to stare at him, barely comprehending the quick jump from sex to food. “You’re not hungry, are you?”
