Chapter 18 #3
Her breath stutters and she makes this helpless, angry noise, half-embarrassed, half-chiding.
I answer with a look. Hold her eyes while I bite.
Daisy has this thing about being looked at.
She’ll take anything if I keep my gaze locked on hers.
But the moment I lower my head, she’s already rocking her hips up, needy, wordless, so greedy for it.
“You’re an asshole,” she whispers, but she’s smiling, barely, bottom lip caught in her teeth.
I let my tongue flick along the inside of her thigh, taste the salt of her, then blow cold air where it’s just been wet. She shivers. I don’t move higher, not yet. I’m patient.
She hates that, too. My thumbs press just above her knees, and her fingers dig into the sheets, knuckles white.
I inch up, slow, and when I finally taste her—when I finally give her the first brush of tongue, soft, then harder—she whimpers like she’s surprised it feels good every time. Maybe she is.
I drag it out. Lick, then stop. Let her drop her hips down, chase me. She says my name like it’s a threat. “Wolfe.”
Everything in me goes quiet.
I lift my head just enough to look at her.
Her hair is spread against the pillow. Her mouth is parted. Her eyes are too bright, too honest, and I know she’s about two seconds from making some self-protective joke if I give her room to breathe.
So I don’t.
I grin against her. Then flatten my tongue and push. The taste of her, the heat, is so intense I could lose myself, but I hold back, just enough. My hand slides up to her stomach and presses her down, pinning her. She wants to buck, but I won’t let her, not yet.
“Please,” she gasps, the word more breath than sound. “Fuck, please—”
I hum against her.
The vibration makes her curse again, softer this time, like she’s offended by her own body for having the nerve to be this responsive.
I let up just enough to look at her.
Mistake.
She’s watching me with wide, ruined eyes, pupils blown, lips parted around a breath she can’t quite finish. Her thighs tremble beneath my hands in tiny, helpless waves, and she looks embarrassed by that too, like she’s mentally drafting a strongly worded complaint to her nervous system.
“Greedy girl,” I murmur.
Then I nip at her clit.
Her whole body jerks.
“Wolfe.”
There it is again.
That name in her mouth.
Half warning. Half plea. All Daisy trying to sound in charge while falling apart under my tongue.
I grin because I am a weak man with excellent motivation.
She moans and grips the sheets harder. “You said you’d be nice.”
“I am being nice.”
Her laugh breaks into a gasp when I lick her again, long and slow, dragging my tongue through her until her hips lift off the mattress.
“This is not—” She sucks in a breath. “This is not what civilized people mean by nice.”
“I’m not civilized.”
“No,” she pants. “You’re a menace with shoulders.”
“Keep talking,” I say against her. “I like knowing when you lose the plot.”
“I have not lost the plot.”
I circle her clit with my tongue, slow enough to make her shake, firm enough to make her forget whatever argument she was building.
Her back arches.
The sentence dies.
“There,” I murmur. “Plot’s gone.”
She makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so desperate, and when her thighs try to close around my head, I slide my hands under them and ease them wider, holding her open with a patience I absolutely do not feel.
“Don’t hide from me.”
“I’m not hiding,” she says, breathless and furious. “I’m preserving dignity.”
“You can preserve it later.”
“That is a terrible policy.”
“It’s working.”
I lower my mouth again before she can answer.
Her hand flies into my hair, fingers tightening, not pushing me away.
Pulling me closer.
Fuck.
That does something to me. I flatten my tongue against her again, and this time she doesn’t have a comeback.
She makes a noise like a sob and nods, jaw clenched. The sight of her—open, vulnerable, fighting herself and me—is almost too much. I could finish her off in seconds, but I want her to lose her mind first.
She deserves it, and so do I.
I move my hand from her stomach to her breast, my palm sliding up her ribcage. She shivers beneath me. I cup her, my thumb brushing her nipple, while the heel of my hand rests near her sternum, close enough to feel her heart beating fast under my touch.
Frantic and terrified, and I know she wants this as much as I do, which is saying a fucking lot.
I go back down. I want her to come on my tongue, to lose control so completely she forgets to hate me for it.
I work her slowly at first, then build, faster, tongue circling, sucking, then soft again, always changing.
She’s so close, I can feel it in the way she tenses, the way her thighs shake.
I slip a finger inside her, then two, curling just so.
She tightens around me, and I know she’s close, so I hold off, slow down. She growls in frustration.
“Fuck you, Wolfe,” she says. “Don’t stop.”
“Tell me what you want,” I say, not letting up, voice muffled by her. “Say it.”
She hesitates, and I know she hates this, hates admitting anything. But I keep going, relentless, and finally she cracks.
“Make me come,” she whispers, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, just—”