Page 110 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“I want you to say it again.”

My gaze meets his from beneath my lashes. I swallow hard and say it louder this time. Confident in a way I’ve always wished I could be, asking for what I want. “You, Truett. I want you.”

“Is that so?” I nod, and he cocks his head to the side, suddenly predatorial. “Well, you have me. I’m all yours. Have been since we were two kids who didn’t know any better. I’ve had a lot of time to put together a laundry list of things I dream of doing to you.” He slips the waistband lower. Cool air brushes over my skin. Goose bumps prickle my flesh. I gasp when his fingertips trace their arrival down the globes of my ass until he runs into the barstool I’m seated on and practically growls. He’s staring at his hands where they bracket my hips as he whispers, “It’s not about me, though. I want to know what you would like. What would make you happy?”

Images of every fantasy, every daydream I’ve ever had of him flit through my mind. My pulse moves south until my clit throbs between my thighs. I wet my lips. Truett’s gaze tracks that swipe of my tongue. I swear his pupils blow from that alone, turning his irises every beautiful shade of midnight.

I’ve never been good at asking for what I want. Truett’s right. I prefer the shadows, the sidelines. The supporting role. But in the spotlight of his undivided attention? His obvious desire? For once I feel like I can put a voice to all those wants. All those fantasies.

With him, I feel safe saying, “I want your head between my legs.”

He doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t laugh at the need painting my voice. Instead his lips quirk in a wicked smile. He pushes off his chair and kneels before me, hooks those hands in my waistband and tugs at the swell of my ass. I lift up enough to let him pull them and my underwear down, down, down until they’re caught at my ankles and he frees each leg, one by one. When at last I’m sitting on this barstool wearing nothing but his old rodeo T-shirt, his rough hands grip my knees and force them apart.

His teeth scrape over his bottom lip as he gazes up at me. “Delilah, you temptress. Come here and let me taste you.” Then he grabs the legs of the barstool and jerks me closer till he’s exactly where I asked him to be. Hands moving to grip my thighs, head between my legs, tongue spreading me open for him to devour.

His mouth encircles my clit, and he sucks, pulling at the most sensitive part of me while I reach for anything that will keep me seated. I end up with my hands laced in his damp hair, gripping it like reins as he laps at my core. I cry out, something like, “Don’t stop,” but also, “Please,” and even a breathless, “Fuck me, that feels so goddamn good.”

One of his hands remains in a vise grip on my thigh, which I’m certain will leave a mark that I’ll beg the universe to let me keep forever. The other releases me and slips below his chin. Then I feel his fingers press into me, hooking to stroke every nerve ending until I’m panting, my stomach clenching, certain this will be over before it’s even begun.

“Wait,” I breathe. “I want you inside me when I come, Tru.”

He stops flicking my clit with his tongue and instead swipes one long lick over it before pausing to look up at me, fingers still moving inside me. “Oh you’ll do that, too. But you’re going to come on my fingers first, like the good girl you are.”

My thighs are trembling, chest tight. It’s a miracle I’m able to force out, “But I can’t do that.”

One eyebrow rises. “Do what?” He slips a third finger into me, and I cry out. With him touching me this way, I can’t even catch my breath to answer him. Luckily he doesn’t make me. He clicks his tongue, cool confidence painting his features, and nips my clit. “You think you can’t come more than once, Temptress?”

I shake my head. I’m so close to the edge, if he so much as breathes on me, I’m a goner.

“Well, you’re going to, baby. I promise that.” His gaze is hard, not an ounce of doubt in those gray depths. “Forget what happened before. You’re mine now. And I always take care of what’s mine.”

Then he shows me just what being his really means.

His tongue and fingers move in tandem, regaining the rhythm that had been stoking the flame in my abdomen higher and higher until I’m certain I’d come careening off this chair if it weren’t for his grip on me. I buck against him. Cry out nonsense. Every nerve in my body erupts into a fireworks show, sparking and sizzling through wave after wave of delicious pleasure. My thighs are locked tight around Truett’s head, but when I finally remember to look down, I’d swear the man looks like he’s in heaven.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against my inner thigh as his fingers slip from inside me. He says it like he dares me to disagree. Another kiss, this time punctuated with a bite, just above my knee. Then he slips his fingers into his mouth and his cheeks hollow out. “Delicious.”

“Amazing.” That one’s me. And when he looks up, the sentiment is echoed back to me in his eyes.

He stands and steps into me, wrapping my legs around him as he leans down to kiss me. I taste myself and blush crimson. Then I taste him, and that ache returns with a vengeance.

His hands brace beneath me and he lifts like I’m light as air, and for a moment I am. Breathless, completely undone. He carries me down the hall, only breaking our kiss to throw me onto that made bed of his, messing it up completely.

“You look so damn good in my bed.” He stands back, admiring me, then hooks his thumbs in his sweats and drops them to the floor.

His cock swings free, thick with desire and glistening at the tip. My mouth waters. He’s bigger than I imagined, and so perfect like this I could paint him. And I try to, using my gaze as the brush. I trace every curve, every hard plane. Explore the way light lives and breathes on his body.

“What are you thinking, Delilah?”

My gaze is heavy, lips languid. “That I’m tempted to ask you never to wear clothes around me again.”

He laughs. “Might get weird around town.”

I shrug. “Worth it.”

“Such a smart mouth.” He fists his cock and pumps once, twice. “It’d look even better wrapped around my cock, don’t you think?”

My skin is a thousand degrees, I’m sure of it. I lose the ability to speak. Instead I nod and rise to my knees, grab the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head. He continues stroking himself as I undo the clasp of my bra and let it fall away, leaving me as bare before him as he is before me.

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