Page 148 of Rebel Hawke

I continue to play with him, licking and kissing and sucking, without fully taking him into my mouth until he is vibratingunder me. His whole body is a coiled, trembling mess, muscles drawn tight in anticipation. Locking eyes with him, I slowly take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck.

“Fuck!”

His single muttered, guttural word washes over me, adding fuel to the fire blazing through my core. I clench my thighs together against the throb as I twist my hand around the base of his shaft and glide it up to meet my mouth.

He groans, his grip tightening on my strands, and I adjust my position, shifting up to support myself better so I can reach between his legs and cup his balls while I take him all the way to the back of my throat.

His body freezes. “Jesus, Little Bird—”

Whatever he was going to say dies as I suck hard on my retreat while I massage him. He moans, a deep, rough sound that crackles across my skin, raising goosebumps, and he pushes on my head, urging me to keep going.

All the times he did this to me, that he made me fall apart against his mouth, that he demanded my compliance and submission, he never let me do it to him.

He never let me take that control over his pleasure.

And fuck does it feel good to know I can do this, that I can make him turn to putty in my hands, that I can make him feel as good as he makes me feel.

His trembling intensifies the longer I work him over. Alternating soft kisses and long glides of my tongue along his length. Over the head. Eliciting a gasp and a low, animalistic noise that makes my pussy weep.

I need him and this as much as he does.

Maybe more.

By the time his balls draw up tight in my hand and I know he’s close, my entire body shakes along with his. Wanting him inside me. Frantic for it.

I swallow him all the way down my throat again, over and over, letting the head hit the soft, wet flesh there, suctioning around him each time I glide back.

“Wren…”

My growled name is the sole warning he gives me before his hips arch and he comes. Hot, urgent spurts. Salty splashes I swallow down eagerly as I squeeze my hand around him and stroke, dragging out his release.

Fuck, yes.

That’s what I needed.

Seeing him like this.

So free—even if only momentarily.

Atlas finally sags back against the mattress, his hands loosening in my hair, and I slowly withdraw from him, sitting back against his thighs and licking my lips.

His eyes flutter open to meet mine. “Fuck, Wren.”

Calloused fingers brush along my cheek, and he watches me, so much love and reverence in his gaze. Mine drops to his still-hard cock resting against his stomach. My pussy throbs, what started as a dull ache becoming a desperate plea that radiates from my core and out through my entire body.

I need Atlas.

More now than ever.

Shifting over him, I grasp his length, tug my thong to one side, and drag the head through my arousal. His eyes widen, his hips bowing to meet mine, offering himself to me to take whatever I want.

I sink down on him without preamble. His hands find my hips again as his hard length spreads me wide, inch by glorious inch. The thick head dragging inside me and fitting perfectly to the hilt.

It’s my turn to release a satisfied groan. “God, I needed this.”

He laughs low, his body shaking beneath me, and he reaches up with one hand around the back of my neck and drags me down to kiss me deeply. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, along mine, still coated in his release. “God, I taste good on you.”

Hell…

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