Page 82 of P.S. You're Intolerable

He stopped in front of me, sliding my hair away from my face and carefully tucking it behind my ears. “You look tired. You need to rest.”

I sighed. “I would if I could.”

“Am I responsible for this?” He seemed genuinely concerned, his frown deep and unhappy.

“No. It’s me.”

“Are you whipping up trouble?”

“Always.”

His frown intensified as he studied me. “What helps?”

“Nothing really. I just have to get tired enough to crash.”

Taking my hand in his, he tugged me against him then hooked my chin with his knuckle, tipping my head back, and brushed his mouth over mine.

“Let me tire you out.” He kissed me again, a whisper of his lips along mine sending shivers racing down my spine.

“How will you do that?”

“Do you trust me, Catherine?”

I nodded without hesitation. I had no idea what was happening here, but I trusted Elliot as much as I was capable of.

“Come with me.”

Holding my hand, he led me upstairs, bypassing my room to enter his. He guided me to the bed, and nerves clawed through my belly.

“I’m not ready for this.” I clutched his hand like a lifeline. “I can’t—”

He tapped my lips. “I’m not going to fuck you. I want you to lie down and let me make you come as many times as it takes to switch off your whirling dervish mind. Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Can you be a good girl for me and let me lick you?”

Oh god. My toes curled into the thick rug I stood on, and I had to stop my eyes from rolling back in my head. Who was this man talking so dirty to me I was light-headed?

I nodded before I could second-guess this decision.

“I don’t want to be naked.”

“Okay,” he soothed, taking my hips in his hands, hooking two fingers in the waistband of my shorts. “But I’m going to need these to come off.”

I had on a different tank than earlier. It was long, and I could pull it down to cover my stomach, which hadn’t recovered and maybe never would.

“You can take them off.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and positioned me to stand between his spread knees. Once he had me there, he whipped my shorts down my legs with his signature efficiency. I yanked the hem of my tank down, covering most of my convex stomach.

Elliot growled, pulling me even closer, his face pressing against the curve below my belly button.

“You smell really good.” He held me there, his arms wrapped around me, face nuzzled in the place I was most self-conscious. The longer I stood in his embrace, the more I let myself relax until I was combing my fingers through his hair and curling around him.

I swayed on my feet, tired but still so very awake. Elliot whirled us so I was on my back on his mattress with him kneeling between my legs.

He freed my trapped hair, spreading it around my shoulders, then surveyed his work.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down my cheeks and over my sensitive breasts. “The only thing I want you to do is lie there and switch off your mind as best you can. Don’t worry about the amount of time I’m going to spend with my face in your pussy. I’m doing this for myself as much as you. I already know I’ll want to stay down there all night and I haven’t even tasted you. Your scent is enough. Do you understand?”

I nodded wordlessly. He’d rendered me speechless. No one had ever said these types of things to me. No man had certainly ever declared he planned to spend all night giving me pleasure. The veracity of Elliot’s desire was in the flush of his cheeks, his blown-out pupils, the bulge in his pants. He wanted this, and who was I not to give him what he wanted?

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