Page 67 of What if I Told You

Too good to be true.

He doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t want me.

He didn’t mean any of it.

I guess it really was just a dream.

And then without warning he nods and mumbles something that sounds like “Yeah, okay” and then wraps his arms around my thighs. He lifts me up and then sets me on the kitchen counter. He opens my legs and steps in between them, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me all over again, but this time he’s soft and slow, less demanding, like he’s getting to know my lips, my tongue, and my mouth for the very first time. Like this kiss means something to him.

Enjoying the persuasive touch of his lips, I groan against him wishing he would do so much more than kiss me. Blood pounds my brain and my body ignites with every swipe of his tongue inside my mouth as I envision him pleasuring me the way he described in bed a few nights ago.

“Fuck, I’d be desperate for her. Desperate to taste her, to hear her pleasured moans. I’d have her wetter for me than she’s ever been…fucking glistening…and then I’d part those soft pink lips with my fingers and drag my tongue over her sweet cunt in one long languid stroke.”

Moisture pools between my legs as I sigh into his kiss. I’m aching for relief but can’t even rub my legs together for a little friction because of where August is standing.

Trying to gain some sort of pressure, I wrap my legs around August’s waist, pulling him tightly against the bottom cabinets and hooking my heels together at my ankles. His hand tugging lightly on my hair, he brings his other hand to the small of my back and then down to my ass holding me against him.

Holy shit.

I can feel him.

His erection presses against my center and I moan into his mouth, reveling in the pressure.

Knowing exactly what I need, he wastes no time sneaking a hand underneath my dress, his fingers playing with the hem of my pink satin panties.

My drenched pink satin panties.

“Tell me to stop, Ella.”

I hear his plea but his touch feels so good and I don’t have the willpower to say no to him.

“Ella…”

When I don’t push him away or tell him no, he slides his hand over my thigh, a feathered touch as he inches higher and higher.

“I mean it, El,” he breathes. “I need you to tell me to stop.”

I shake my head slowly, my heart pounding inside my chest, and whisper, “I can’t do that.”

He watches my face as his hand cups my warm wet pussy and I sigh audibly, biting down on my lower lip when he slides a finger through my arousal.

“August!”

“Shhh.” He places a finger over my lips and then kisses them for good measure. He backs away from me but only enough to lift my leg and position my foot onto his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

Silently, I shake my head one more time, internally pleading with him to continue.

“You know I’m not done,” he says. “I’m so far from done.”

Again, I say nothing so he has zero reason to stop or walk away. He slowly spreads my legs farther apart and then peppers lazy lingering kisses up my thigh. He lifts my other leg, positioning my foot against his right shoulder and then peers down at my soaking wet pink panties. Hooking his thumb inside them, he moves them aside and licks his lips at the vision before him.

“Fucking Christ, you’re beautiful.”

And then his tongue is swiping through me, first in one long languid stroke just like he described, but then he goes back for more, trailing his tongue through my arousal, licking me, tasting me, pleasuring me. And I am dead.

I’ve died and gone to heaven.

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