20. The Slow Unfolding #2
“Easy,” he murmured into my pussy, the words muffled but clear. One big hand splayed across my lower belly, holding me steady. “Let me work, sweetheart. You’ve been waiting long enough.”
I tried to form a retort, something about his ego or his timing, but another deep lick stole the words.
He switched tactics, sliding two fingers along my entrance while his mouth focused on my clit. The stretch felt perfect, curling just right inside me. He pumped them slowly at first, building rhythm, thumb occasionally brushing where his tongue had been.
“Talk to me,” he said between licks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. His chin glistened. “Tell me what feels best. I want to learn every sound you make.”
“Deeper,” I gasped, cheeks burning. “The fingers—curl them more. Yes, like that.”
He obeyed instantly, adjusting the angle until stars burst behind my eyelids.
The back-and-forth became a conversation of moans and praises, his low encouragements mixing with my broken directions. Every time I twitched or sighed louder, he doubled down, reading my body like sheet music.
“You’re getting close already,” he observed, voice smug but warm. “Quivering so prettily around my fingers. Come on, Omega. Let me have it.”
The combination of his tongue working my clit and those fingers stroking that perfect spot pushed me right to the edge.
My thighs tensed, heels digging into the mattress. He didn’t let up, sucking gently on my clit at the exact moment his fingers pressed deeper.
I came hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through me.
My walls clenched around his fingers, slick flooding his mouth and chin. He licked me through every pulse, greedy and thorough, drawing out the waves until I trembled with overstimulation.
“Sensitive,” he noted softly, pressing one last gentle kiss to my mound before lifting his head. His face shone with evidence of my release. “Someone surely should have been attending to these needs long before tonight. Showing you the proper amount of love.”
He pouted, while sliding his fingers free.
Our eyes stayed locked as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, slow and deliberate.
The sight sent fresh heat spiraling through me.
“Until those men grow a pair and realize your worth, Blooming Apricot,” he said, voice low and serious beneath the teasing, “I’d gladly remind you that I’m more than plenty to satisfy you.”
I laughed breathlessly, still catching my breath.
“You’re awfully confident for a man who just crawled across my bed like a predator.”
“Confident because I pay attention.” He winked, settling back on his heels. “Now, question for you. What’s that vibrator of yours called?”
The blush hit me like wildfire. I covered my face with both hands.
“You did not just ask that right after—”
“I did.” He tugged my hands away gently, grinning. “Come on. I saw the pink evidence. Name?”
“...Max,” I muttered, mortified and aroused in equal measure.
“Max.” He chuckled, deep and rich. “I’m jealous the vibrator gets a male name, but I can share. For once in a while.” He leaned over, opened the nightstand drawer, and retrieved the toy with zero shame. “Just don’t get used to using him without my presence, hmm? That’s a rule I’m adding tonight.”
I nodded slowly, cheeks flaming hotter.
“Turn it on after you… you know.”
He slid the vibrator inside me with careful precision, the stretch delicious after his fingers. The low buzz kicked on.
My back arched instantly. Then his mouth returned to my clit, licking in time with the vibrations.
The dual sensation hit like lightning.
I came fast and hard, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as I squirted across his face and the sheets. Pleasure bordered on overwhelming, wave after wave.
Sawyer chuckled, warm and satisfied, pulling the toy free and switching it off.
He tossed it aside on the bed.
“There we go.”
I blushed furiously, chest heaving.
“You have to be careful of damaging goods, Devereaux. That was—”
“Damaging goods?” He sat back fully, showing off his veiny cock—hard, thick, leaking precum at the tip. The sight made my mouth water. “You need to worry about me damaging this greedy pussy that’s still pulsing for more.”
My face went scarlet in seconds.
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossible and right here.” He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once, slow. “Ready for the main course, Amber?”
I licked my lips, the word slipping out in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His voice dropped, hungry. “Because I’m desperate to feel every inch of your hot pussy walls.”
The air between us crackled with fresh anticipation. His scent surged stronger, magnolia and pepper wrapping me tighter while bourbon warmth promised things I had forgotten I could want this badly.
We weren’t finished...not by a long shot.
The moonlight filtering through the lace curtains painted silver highlights along the curves of my body, catching on the sheen of sweat and slick.
He wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and dragged the thick head slowly through my folds, teasing without entering.
Up and down, deliberate, coating himself in my wetness.
“Watching your glistening pussy like this,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint, “your sexy body laid out under the moonlight… it’s so fucking hot, Amber. Those men really are missing out. But I certainly won’t be.”
I opened my mouth to reply—something sharp about his confidence or the unfairness of how good he looked doing this—but the words dissolved into a gasp as he notched the head at my entrance and began to push inside.
Inch by inch, he slid home.
The stretch burned sweet and overwhelming. I hadn’t felt a cock with this kind of girth in years.
Each of my former pack had their own signature—Beckett’s steady thickness, Cade’s playful curve, August’s impressive length that always left me wonderfully sore.
Sawyer surpassed them.
The realization hit me hard; it was dangerous territory if the others ever learned it. My walls fluttered around him, adjusting, welcoming.
We both moaned as he bottomed out, hips flush against mine. The sound tangled together in the quiet room, raw and honest.
“Full,” I managed, panting.
My hands found his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle there.
He held still, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing each other in.
His scent enveloped us completely now—magnolia blooming rich and sweet, black pepper sharp with arousal, bourbon warmth turning deeper, almost smoky. Mine answered in waves of sun-warm apricot and garden roses, the bruised edges from earlier long gone, replaced by something brighter, needier.
“Perfect fit,” he murmured, kissing the tip of my nose.
Then he captured my mouth fully, kissing me senseless, tongue stroking deep while his cock throbbed inside me. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Ready for the rollercoaster ride, Blooming Apricot?”
I laughed; the sound surprised and delighted even to my own ears.
“Clearly strapped in. Don’t hold back on my account.”
He chuckled, low and warm, the vibration traveling through our joined bodies.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”