Chapter 21 #2
The sides of my pajama shirt fall open, leaving my bare breasts exposed.
Bending down, he finds my neck and licks and kisses his way down my chest, then draws my hardened nipple into his mouth.
A groan reverberates from his chest, and I bite my lip with a whimper.
Before he pulls away, he gently nibbles the sensitive flesh followed by soothing the bite with his tongue.
Hands buried in his hair, I cry out, lost to the sensation.
He dips his fingers into the waistband of my pajama pants and drags the fabric down, but only an inch or two. Impatient, I clutch the elastic, but before I can yank them down, he grasps both of my wrists with one hand.
“Patience, Josephine,” he says, eyes on mine.
My full name drips from his tongue like smooth honey, nearly turning me into a puddle.
This man could break me in two, and I’d probably thank him for it. Then I would ask him to do it again.
Releasing me, he hauls himself up to his feet.
Towering over me in the warm glow of the bedroom like this, he’s a true work of art.
Intricate lines of ink trail down his arms and chest. The hardened planes of muscle on his stomach contract with each heavy breath.
The dusting of hair on his lower abdomen narrows, trailing down to the large bulge in his pants.
He grips my calves and yanks me to the edge of the bed, pulling a squeal from me.
Beckett taking control is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
Head bowed, he pulls down my pajama pants at an agonizingly slow pace. And when I’m completely bare, he drops to his knees and smooths his large hands down the expanse of my legs, parting them. He presses a firm kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, then moves higher.
When he gets to the juncture of my thigh and pussy, panic rushes through me. “Wait.”
Immediately, he pulls back. “Too far? I’ll stop—”
“No,” I cry. This is so embarrassing. I’m going to ruin the moment, but I feel comfortable enough with him to tell him this. Pushing up onto my elbows, face heating, I say, “I’ve never come from oral before.”
He rubs soothing circles over my thighs, but he doesn’t speak.
“Sometimes it takes a while for me to finish. . .in general. I end up getting too in my head and my mind wanders off. I stress about taking too long, which, ironically, makes it more difficult to come.” My voice is shaky and apologetic.
“So, for me, it’s more about the journey than the destination, you know? ”
I drop back, eyes squeezed shut, hoping he isn’t one of those guys who’ll take that confession as a challenge. Who’ll tell me it’s just that I haven’t experienced the right tongue or hands or whatever and he can change that for me.
“That’s totally normal, you know,” he says, still caressing my legs.
“You’re not broken or defective. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.
” When I get brave enough to look at him, he’s wearing an understanding smile.
“But I can assure you, I’ll stay down here for as long as you’ll let me.
I just want to make you feel good, so please don’t worry about me or my feelings. ”
Swallowing, I decide it’s not worth the debate, so I nod once. “Then make me feel good.”
He pushes my thighs farther apart, then trails his lips over the delicate skin, the roughness of his stubble sending a thrill through me.
With a hungry glint in his eyes, he covers my pussy with his mouth and sucks.
Head dropped back, I gasp, and as he drags his tongue over every bit of me, I can’t help but moan.
When he draws my clit into his mouth and sucks, my vision goes spotty and I cry out.
I pull on his hair, urging his mouth closer, writhing under his touch. I’m rewarded when he slips two fingers inside me and curls them, hitting a spot that no man has ever found. Frantic, I roll my hips, eager for more, chasing my orgasm.
It’s right there and I’m terrified I’ll get lost in my head and lose it.
As if he can read my mind, he pulls away, though he doesn’t stop stroking me. “Josephine,” he commands. “Look at me.”
I do as he says, lifting onto my elbows.
“I told you I’d stay here for as long as you’ll let me. Do you want me to stop?”
With jerky movements, I shake my head. No, that’s the last thing I want.
“Thank god,” he murmurs. Then he dives back in, latching on to my clit again.
Head dropped back, I revel in every flick and swirl of his tongue, the vibrations from his groans, and the way his fingers slide inside me. He’s exceptional at this, and the way he’s taking pleasure in my pleasure only heightens the intensity of the moment.
Smiling against me, he grips my hips and pulls me closer, like he’s a man starved.
Warmth pools low in my stomach as I grind my pussy against his hungry mouth. Every flick of his tongue pulses through me, winding me tighter. I’m on the brink of snapping when he lets out a satisfied groan.
At the sound, a surge of pleasure overtakes me.
From my fingertips down to my toes, my orgasm consumes me.
My back arches off the bed as I surrender to it completely.
Beckett stays with me through it all. His fingers remain curved inside me and his mouth slows to a reverent kiss, waiting for the last aftershocks to subside beneath his lips.
Chest rising and falling, I struggle for air as I sink into the tangled sheets. I’m weightless. Every tense muscle in my body—from my clenched jaw to my shaky thighs—sighs with relief as I float in the afterglow.
I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry or high-five the man nestled between my legs.
Between my knees, Beckett stands to his full height and smiles down at me, his lips swollen and glistening, his hair disheveled. Casually, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and winks.
This shy, quiet man fucking winks at me.
And I melt.