Page 23 of Westin

His eyes drop. My nipples tighten.

I don’t have to ask if he likes them. From his expression, it’s obvious the rest of the world has fallen away. He moves in, pulling me closer and sliding one hand around my back to hold me up. With his other, he bends me until my spine arches and my breasts push into his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans.

“What?” I whisper.

Instead of answering, he kisses the underside of my left breast. My body lights up. His mouth is pure heaven. My head falls back, and the ceiling of my room spins. His hot, strong tongue runs over the tip of my nipple, and a tiny gasp slips from my lips.

It circles the sensitive peak as he moans, and I pulse deep inside.

His free hand tugs my dress until it slips off. Then, he lowers me onto my back, thighs spread, no panties.

“Wait,” I gasp.

He’s not listening. Those piercing eyes are locked between my legs. I squirm, uncomfortable with being inspected so closely.

“Bea good girl,” he says, flicking his eyes up to mine. “Stay right there, darling.”

“You’re staring at me,” I manage.

“You’ve got the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Of course I’m staring.”

Something about that word, one I’ve never had the courage to say, falling from his lips makes me weak.

My brain hums, and I worry my lower lip, stalling and unsure how to respond. I don’t get a lot of compliments, especially not dirty ones, but thankfully, I don’t have to answer him, because he leans down and kisses my stomach so gently, I shiver.

His tongue darts out and circles my navel. The sensation shoots down to my clit, making my thighs tremble. Then, he moves down past my dress bunched around my waist and starts kissing along the inside of my thigh.

His mouth is dangerously close to my sex, and a tremor runs down my leg at the idea.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

He looks up. “We’ve got hours, darling. And I’ve got nowhere to be but between your legs.”

“What?”

He doesn’t answer. My heart patters out of control, and for a second, I consider begging him to stop so I can gather my thoughts.

But what’s the point of thinking when just feeling is so much better?

He takes my wrists, wraps them up in one hand, and holds them to my lower belly. I’m pinned down and exposed. My pulse hammers, and I wait with bated breath.

I feel it—his tongue, hot and hungry—curl over my sex and drag up to my clit.

Oh God, I’m going to die.

He licks over me again and zeros in on my clit, lapping gently with the tip of his tongue. I want to bury my hands in his hair and keep him right there forever.

I squirm, twisting my wrists. His grip tightens, steady and firm, and my brain buzzes. There’s something so deliciously dirty aboutbeing in bed, in the middle of the afternoon, with a man’s head between my legs.

This is everything I never knew I wanted.

My toes curl on the quilt as my lower back arches and I push my pussy up against his mouth. Just a little, to let him know I like what he’s doing.

He growls softly, like an animal, but doesn’t lift his head. His tongue keeps working over my clit, keeping a slow, steady pace. I’m the only one who has ever touched that place. It feels good when I do it, but not the way it does under his tongue.

Something sparks deep inside me, and I can’t help myself. My eyes flutter, the ceiling spins, and a moan works its way from my mouth. It sounds strange, like it came from someone else, not me.

---