Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Soren
She tastes like cinnamon, cider, and the promise of every holiday I never knew I wanted. Sweet and sharp and too damn good to let go of.
I’m kissing her, but it’s not just a kiss. It’s a wish—wild and wordless, aching through every cell of my body. One I didn’t know I made until her mouth opened for me, until her tongue brushed mine like she was saying yes without needing a single word.
And when she doesn’t pull away—when her lips part wider and her tongue slides against mine, soft and slow and wanting—when her fingers fist into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear—I forget every reason I shouldn’t be doing this.
Every rule. Every line we swore we wouldn’t cross dissolves under the heat of her mouth.
This kiss feels like gravity finally picking sides. As if the world tilted in her favor, and I’ve been stumbling toward her my whole damn life.
My hand finds her cheek, then buries into her hair, cradling the back of her head like she’s sacred. Fragile. Mine.
She leans in, melts into me, and when she sighs—low and breathless as if my kiss unraveled something deep inside her—something shifts in my chest.
Something so permanent it brands itself beneath my ribs. I’m already ruined for anyone who isn’t her. She’s in my arms. Warm, breathing, kissing me like we were always meant to find our way to this moment.
I am so fucking gone for her, it’s not even funny.
I pull back just a breath, enough to look at her.
Her lips are parted, kiss-drunk and stunned. Her cheeks are flushed. There’s this dazed, wide-eyed look in her eyes, like she’s wondering if this is happening or if she dreamed it.
I want to tell her everything I’m feeling.
That this isn’t pretend. That I haven’t been pretending since the first night, she Kissed me like I was worth being let in. That I ran because I couldn’t deal with my emotions, but now I’m ready for them—for her.
But instead, I whisper, “If you want to stop me . . . now’s your chance.”
Her throat bobs. She stares at my mouth.
Then she whispers, “Don’t you dare stop.”
And fuck—I won’t.
I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper, like I’m pulling something sacred from the center of her.
Her mouth opens for me without hesitation, and our tongues meet with this aching, hungry sweetness—less desperation, more devotion.
We cling to each other like we’re both trying to memorize the feeling like neither of us knows how to do this halfway.
My hands move to her waist, slipping under the hem of her sweater. She gasps into my mouth when my fingers graze bare skin, and I feel it—the shiver that rolls through her as I touch the soft curve just above her jeans.
“Can I?” I murmur against her lips.
She nods.
So I lift her sweater slowly, kissing the underside of her jaw as I go, trailing heat with my mouth while fabric slides over her stomach, her ribs, the swell of her breasts. She raises her arms, eyes never leaving mine, and I pull it over her head and drop it to the floor.
She’s standing there in a pale bra that shouldn’t look like sin, but it does—on her, it does. My breath catches. Not because she’s perfect but because she’s letting me see her like this.
“You’re beautiful,” I breathe. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her cheeks pinken. “You’ve said that.”
“I’ll keep saying it.” I kiss her again, then lower my mouth to her throat, kissing along the line of her neck as my hands move to the front clasp of her bra. I pause. “Okay?”
She whispers, “Yes.”
The clasp gives, and the fabric slides away. I pull back to look, not to stare—to worship. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. Her nipples are tight, peaked from cold or anticipation—probably both.
I kiss her again, this time slower, letting my mouth explore. I kiss her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, then lower to one breast, closing my lips around her nipple while she gasps and arches into me.
Her hands tangle in my hair. Her body bows against mine.
“Soren,” she whispers, and it’s my undoing. My name has never sounded like that before—like a prayer being answered.
I kiss lower, down her stomach, kneeling to undo the button on her jeans, slow and careful.
I press a kiss just above the waistband before I slide them down her hips.
She steps out of them, steadying herself on my shoulders.
When she’s in nothing but those tiny black panties, I swear I forget every language except the one her body speaks.
I run my hands up her thighs. “Get on the bed for me.”
She climbs onto the bed, moving back against the pillows with her legs slightly parted like she’s trying to play it casual, but I can see the flush crawling up her chest. The way her breath hitches.
The way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do with them now that I’m looking at her like this.
I crawl onto the bed after her, slow and steady, settling between her legs on my knees.
Her panties are still on—black, lace-edged, barely there—and fucking tragic because they’re hiding the thing I want most right now.
I slide my hands up her thighs, thumbs grazing the delicate fabric as I hook my fingers into the waistband. “These need to go,” I murmur, eyes locked on hers.
She nods, breath catching.
I lower them slowly—inch by inch—kissing my way down as I go. First, the soft skin of her hip, then the inside of her thigh. She shifts beneath me, already trembling, and when I reach the crease where her thigh meets her center, I press an open-mouthed kiss there that makes her gasp.
She’s already wet.
Fuck, she’s soaking through the lace, and I haven’t even really touched her yet.
“You’re so ready for me,” I whisper against her skin, voice rough, lips brushing the damp edge of the fabric before I tug it down her legs. “So wet for me, baby.”
She moans as I trail more kisses along the path I’m uncovering—slow and teasing—until I finally slide the panties off and toss them somewhere behind me.
And then I sit back on my heels to look at her.
All of her.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
She’s perfection—and mine.
Mine. Not because she said it—but because her body just did.
“You’re so beautiful, glistening already.”
She’s glistening. Soft and flushed and so fucking perfect I forget to breathe. Her pussy’s pink and swollen, and my mouth waters just looking at her.
“Fuck, Win,” I murmur, dragging my eyes up her body and back down. “You’re so fucking pretty. Look at you.”
She shifts, thighs pressing together like she might hide from me, but I press my hands to her knees and gently push them apart again.
“No,” I say softly. “Let me see you.”
She trembles a little, but she opens for me.
I lick my lips, eyes locked between her thighs. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.”
She lets out a shaky breath, eyes wide, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“You ever touched yourself for someone before?” I ask, voice low and rough.
Her breath stutters. She shakes her head.
“Good,” I murmur. “Then I get to be your first.”
I reach for her hand, bring it to her stomach, then trail it lower—just above her mound—before letting go. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me.”
She swallows hard. “Soren—”
“Please.” I lean in close, brushing my lips against her inner thigh. “I want to see how you fall apart.”
She hesitates just a second longer, then slides her fingers between her legs. I watch her part her folds, her fingertip catching on her clit. She gasps—sharp, shocked like she wasn’t expecting it to feel that good.
My cock throbs behind the zipper of my pants, and I almost groan out loud.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
Her fingers keep working her clit—slow, soft strokes that make her hips twitch and her breath hitch in the back of her throat. Her other hand clenches in the sheets, like she doesn’t know what to do with the way I’m looking at her.
I reach out and wrap my hand around her wrist, guiding it up—over her stomach, her ribs—until her palm brushes the swell of her breast.
“Touch yourself here, too,” I murmur. “Play with your nipple while you rub that pretty pussy for me.”
Her lips part on a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as she does what I say—pinching gently, rolling the tip between her fingers.
And fuck. Fuck.
Watching her touch herself like that, laid out in front of me, needy and messy, and mine?
It nearly breaks me.
Her back arches, thighs starting to shake as her movements grow bolder—more desperate. She’s close. I can feel it in every inch of her body.
But when her eyes flutter closed again, I lean forward and growl, “Eyes on me.”
She opens them, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, mouth open like she’s forgotten how to breathe.
“I want to see you fall apart for me,” I say, voice rough. “I want you to know what you look like when you make yourself come—and know I’m going to do it again with my mouth after.”
Her fingers stutter over her clit, like my words just short-circuited her brain. Her thighs tremble. Her breathing goes wild. Her eyes open wider—and the look she gives me? It’s filthy. Desperate. Like she’s already halfway gone and still begging me to push her over the edge.
I reach for my shirt and yank it off, never looking away from her hand between her legs. Then I stand, push my pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, and my cock springs free—thick, hard, flushed at the tip.
She moans at the sight, fingers still working herself as her gaze drops to my length.
“Yeah,” I say, curling one hand around the base and stroking once, slow. “You want this in your pretty pussy, don’t you, baby?”
She nods. Fast. Breathless. “Yes.”
My voice drops, darker now, rougher with how much I want her. “You close?”
She nods again, hand faltering.
“You need help?” I ask, stepping closer to the bed. “Need my mouth to finish what you started?”
She whimpers, thighs twitching.
“Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Please. I need your mouth.”
And that’s all it takes.
Her “please” snaps whatever thread of restraint I had left.
I climb back onto the bed, lower this time—settling between her thighs like it’s where I was always meant to be. Her hand still lingers between her legs, fingers wet and trembling. I grab her wrist gently, bringing it to my mouth, and kiss her fingertips.
“You taste yourself?” I murmur, eyes locked on hers. “Fucking heaven.”
She gasps as I suck her middle finger into my mouth, slow and filthy. Her hips twitch.
“You’re shaking,” I say, voice low, teasing. “You that needy, sweetheart? That desperate for my tongue?”
She nods fast, lips parted, panting.
“Good,” I breathe, spreading her open with both hands, thumbs parting her folds so I can see every glistening inch of her. “Because I’m starving.”
I start slow.
A kiss—soft and wet—right on her inner thigh. Then another. And another, higher this time. I skip where she needs me most, dragging my mouth just beside her clit, just close enough to make her whimper—then pull away again.
“Stop teasing me, Soren,” she whispers, hips lifting off the bed, trying to find my mouth or something to take the ache away.
“Patience,” I say, dragging my tongue flat along the crease of her thigh, just enough to tease.
When I finally press a kiss to her pussy, she lets out a sound that damn near undoes me—half sob, half moan, all surrender.
I lick her slowly, the first swipe deep and unhurried, dragging the flat of my tongue from her entrance all the way up to her clit. She jerks at the contact, thighs threatening to close around me.
“Stay open for me,” I say against her, voice muffled by her slick heat. “Let me taste all of you.”
She obeys, breath catching, fingers gripping the sheets like she’s holding on for dear life.
I lap at her again, then again—long, slow strokes of my tongue, savoring her. I swirl around her clit, then suck it into my mouth gently, tongue flicking over it in light pulses.
Her cry is instant. Desperate. Beautiful.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur between strokes. “You’re so fucking good for me. So wet, so sweet. You gonna come on my tongue?”
She whimpers something that might be yes—or maybe just my name—and it lights me up.
I slide a finger inside her—slow, then deeper—and her walls clench around me so tight I nearly lose it. I curl it just right, then add a second, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
She’s gasping now. Falling apart. Her thighs are shaking, her hips grinding into my face like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“You’re close,” I say, sucking her clit again, harder this time. “Let go for me, Win. I want to feel you come.”
She shatters a breath later.
Body arching. Hands clutching the sheets. Her orgasm hits like a wave—long and rippling and so fucking intense. I feel it in the way she pulses around my fingers, in the cry she lets out as I keep licking her through it, soft and slow until she’s twitching and begging me to stop.
I press a final kiss to her clit, then rest my cheek against her thigh, grinning like a man who just got everything he’s ever wanted.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “That was beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”