Chapter 20 #3
His gaze never leaves my face as he slowly shoves it higher up one side, then the other, repeating until it’s bunched up around my waist. The moment he catches a view of my panties, he licks his lips. His thumbs trace along the seam and then dip inward along the creases of my skin.
“That wet spot, right here . . .” he says, brushing his thumb over my clit. I whine at the sensation, which has a smirk tugging at his lips. “It makes me want to rip these right off of you. Clean up your pussy with my tongue and make a mess of it all over again.”
Holy shit. His words roll through me like a prequel to the orgasm I know he’ll deliver. “I should probably let you do that then,” I rush out, as if I’m out of breath.
Humming, he nods in a way that shouldn’t be so sexy, looping his thumb around the front of my panties and pushing them to the side.
Shifting forward, he drags his tongue along my pussy's lips the same as I remember, with enough pressure that they part as he licks up my slit achingly slow until he reaches my clit, closing his mouth around it and sucking.
The sounds he makes meet the whoosh of air that expels from my chest and out my mouth with a groan.
His other thumb moves lower as his grip on the material tightens, and with a twist, he rips my underwear clean off.
Gasping, my hand reaches into his hair, gripping it with the same force that his tongue and lips work me.
He pushes my left thigh up, holding me open as he teases me.
I tilt my head to look at him between my legs.
Pulling on his hair, I urge him to lift his face, wanting to see my arousal all over his mouth, and when he does, I’m met with his intense eyes and then a playful smile surrounded by glistening wet lips as he says, “Fucking delicious.”
He bites at my inner thigh, forcing a laugh to bubble out of me as I ease up on his hair.
With a groan against me, he shoves my ass up higher, moving his head left and right as the flat of his tongue rubs exactly how I need.
The pressure and warmth that keeps building along my body from the backs of my knees to the tips of my fingers is going to have me crashing, I know it. But still I want more.
“Tell me, Crowne. Go ahead, ask for it,” he says between breaths and licks.
“You can demand my fingers,” he adds, just before his teeth graze my clit and then suck it between his lips.
He moans at the way I grip his hair, my other hand moving between buttons and over the cups of my bra to play with my breast and nipple.
I want to come so badly and to make it last all at the same time.
“Give me your fingers,” I nearly whimper.
And immediately, two fingers glide up and down my pussy, once, twice, and then he twists his wrist so that the same two fingers slide inside me, curling forward as his mouth descends back to where I want it.
His tongue teases me, warm and wet with the perfect pressure that has my thighs shaking.
It’s barely enough time to realize he’s too fucking good at this, and my neck is arching back, a cry escaping as my pussy pulses around his fingers.
He draws it out somehow, my body writhing and tensing beneath him.
“That’s it, just like that,” he says softly, resting his chin along my thigh as I catch my breath.
His scruff is drenched with me, and I love how messy he looks.
I love that I’ve affected him like that.
He shifts, looking down at where he just played with me, his fingers slowly pulling out to their tips.
I want him. I don’t want to overthink. I don’t want to forget how this feels.
“I want one more,” he demands in a low gravel.
My eyes shift to his just as he bites along my thigh and stretches me again with his fingers.
Moaning, I watch as he makes a show of extending his tongue out flat and licking along the base of his fingers.
He drags it up to my clit again as if he doesn’t want to miss a single drop of the arousal he’s wrung from me.
It’s so fucking good that I move my fingers into his hair again and pull.
When he looks up at me, I shift and grab at his shirt.
I want the weight of him, want to feel more of him.
“It’s not enough,” I rush out just as his lips find mine. The taste of me on his tongue pulls another raspy moan from me. “Please, let me feel you,” I beg, pulling at the back of his shirt.
He sits back on his heels, grips at the neckline of his shirt, and pulls it over his head.
Every inch of him is mouthwatering to look at, from the broadness of his sculpted shoulders to the thickness of his arms and chest. It’s not chiseled muscle or overtly cut lines, but the deep-set curve of strength that spans from chest, down his stomach, and to his thighs.
Just as he’s lowering himself over me, my hands smoothing up his chest, buzzing drowns out the sound of our heavy breathing.
My phone lights up from more than an arm’s length away. It’s vibrating without stopping, meaning someone’s calling, and I’m almost exclusively a texter. Shit. Something is wrong.
“I need to see who—” I say as I move to reach for it.
He leans over to grab it for me. Before I answer, I see it’s a picture of Stevie and Nash smiling on the screen. I slide to answer right away. “Hey?—”
“Fury is detaining me,” Stevie rushes out, sounding pissed and maybe on the cusp of tears.
“What?” I suck in a breath as I turn to look at Julian, who’s brow furrows at my concern.
“Sheriff Fury is trying to helicopter his tiny prick around,” she yells out, so I’m sure he or whoever is close by can hear what she’s saying. Her emotions always come out more like anger—and she’s the loudest of us.
I hear someone in the background say to her, “Watch it, Stevie . . .”
“The sheriff marched up to my recording space and demanded that I drop the conversations around Billings being a piece-of-shit cop and how plenty of rumors are circling about his side hustle in narcotics and opioids. That,” she pauses to groan in frustration, “and I quote, ‘Rumors are not facts and shouldn’t be reported as such.’” She barks an unamused laugh.
“Do you believe that shit? As if we don’t understand the damage rumors can do.
” She gets louder when she says, “And it’s a podcast, you asshat, not hard-hitting journalism! ”
“Okay, ease up and tell me what happened after that,” I ask, trying to get a full picture here. I know The Distilled Truth ruffles plenty of authority feathers, but being detained seems a little extreme, if not infringing on an amendment. “He couldn’t have arrested you over that.”
She huffs, and then takes a deep breath. With that pause alone, I know there’s more. “I told him that he was a paper-pushing manbaby who takes handouts from sociopaths and blatantly ignores criminals within his own precinct.”
Julian kisses my shoulder and slowly sits back on his heels as I sit up taller.
“Stevie,” I say, trying to get a word in.
I start to fumble with the buttons that came undone on my blouse as I glance at Julian, who’s already reading the situation right as he puts his shirt back on and moves to help me up.
“And that he’s no better than a cult leader with the way he brainwashes everyone into believing everything is fine around here. He didn’t like that one.”
I don’t need to know why she’s asking for my help. And I would never call her an idiot—my sister is smart. She just likes to play it off as a flaw most of the time.
She exhales. “You can tell me I’m an idiot and lace into me later. I just need you to come and get me—I didn’t know who else?—"
I stop her right there. “Stevie, I’m on my way.”