8. Everett #2
Whatever she was about to say dissolves into a sound that goes straight to the base of my spine when I drag my tongue along her slit.
Her hips come off the mattress, and I pin them down with one forearm, keeping her still while I work her with my tongue.
She tastes clean and sweet, and when I find the rhythm that makes her legs shake, I stay there.
I don’t rush it either. I learn her. What makes her breath catch, what makes her grab my hair.
What makes her whisper my name like she’s forgotten every other word she knows.
I don’t even think she realizes how vocal she is.
The quiet, desperate sounds she keeps trying to muffle with her hand until I reach up and yank it away.
“Don’t hide,” I murmur against her swollen flesh. “I want to hear you.”
She whimpers. Her fingers thread back into my hair, and this time she doesn’t try to be quiet when I press my tongue flat against her, then curl it, slow, deliberate.
Her thighs start to shake on either side of my head, and her breathing gets ragged.
I feel how close she is in the way her whole body is wound tight, like she’s right at the edge and doesn’t know how to let herself fall.
I start to tease the outside of her entrance with the tip of one finger while my mouth keeps working.
That’s what does it. She breaks apart with a cry she can’t hold back, her back bowing off the mattress, and her hand pulling my hair hard enough to sting.
I stay with her through it, easing her down, slowing my pace until she goes limp against the sheets, and her grip loosens.
Before long, the only sound in the room is her breathing.
Before pulling back, I press one more kiss against her inner thigh. When I look at her over the length of her heaving body, she’s staring at the ceiling. Her face is flushed all the way down to her chest, and her eyes are glassy. She looks like she is out of it and liked it.
“Are you okay?” I ask before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her taste and smell are all around me, demanding more, but I can’t yet. Not until I know she’s okay.
“I don’t think I have bones anymore,” she whispers.
I pull my shirt over my head and reach for the nightstand drawer.
I’m not the kind of guy who keeps a full box of condoms on display, but I’ve got a few, and right now, I’m grateful for that.
I tear the wrapper and roll it on while she watches me from the pillow, her eyes tracing down my body and then going very wide when they reach the relevant area.
“I told you I was worried about that,” she whispers.
“I’ll go slow, like I told you.” I settle over her, bracing my weight on my forearms so I’m not crushing her, because I could. Easily. The size difference is real, and it matters. I’m aware of every inch of it as I line myself up. “You tell me if it’s too much.”
Her hands come up to my shoulders before she nods.
It takes every scrap of self-control, but somehow, I manage to ease my way in slowly.
Barely. I hold after the first inch, watching her face with my teeth gritted, my heart pounding, and my instincts begging me to keep going.
But not until I know it’s safe. Her eyes squeeze shut.
Her jaw is so tight. I wait until her grip on my shoulders loosens, and her breathing evens out, and she opens her eyes, stares up at me, and nods again.
Another inch. Another. She’s tight as fuck and warm, and I have to lock my jaw and think about absolutely anything other than how she feels right now, because if I don’t, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast.
“Okay?” I manage.
“Okay,” she breathes. Her hands slide from my shoulders to my back. “More.”
I give her more. Slowly, rocking into her, letting her adjust. Her face shifts from tense to something softer until I find the angle that makes her gasp.
I stay there and build on it. Steady and controlled.
She deserves someone who pays attention, and I’m paying attention to everything.
Every sound, every shift of her hips, every time she digs her fingernails into my back.
At first, she’s hesitant, but she starts to move with me. Her confidence builds until her hips rise to meet mine. The rhythm we find together is slow and deep, and nothing like anything I’ve ever had before. This isn’t fucking. I don’t know what to call it, but it isn’t that.
Her breathing changes. It gets faster and higher. Her legs wrap around me—God, it’s unreal. I feel her tightening. She’s close again.
I drop my forehead against hers and murmur, “Come on, dimples. One more.”
She shatters around me with her face pressed into my neck, and the way she clenches pulls me right over the edge with her.
I bury myself deep and let go, and for one blinding second, my head is completely empty, the way it usually only is when I’m hurting someone.
Except this is better. This is so much better.