Page 73 of Hannah.

Johan’s breath hitches, and the last thing I feel before I fall asleep are his fingers tangling with mine and his lips pressing against my neck.

I wake up twice. The first time, it's still dark, but the space in the bed beside me is empty. I force my eyelids open and shift in the bed, turning until I see Johan's silhouette against the faint moonlight coming through the window. He's got a snifter of something amber in his hand and a crystal carafe, uncorked, on the side table next to him. He's looking outside, contemplative, his broad back towards me. I know him well enough to see that he’s deep in thought about something.

“Johan?” I ask, voice rough with sleep.

He turns his head slightly, but his voice is warm and comforting when speaking. “Go back to sleep, Hannah. I'll be right there.”

So I do.

When I wake up the second time, it's morning. My cheek is pressed against Johan's now bare chest, and his arm is thrown around my shoulder. My legs are tangled up with his, and he’s sleeping peacefully, his breath ruffling my hair. The sunlightstreams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the pale walls seem even lighter in the daylight.

“Hannah, sweet girl,” Johan whispers, his fingers brushing along my bare arm. I shiver at the sensation, still flitting between sleep and wakefulness. “Let me touch you.”

“Yes,” I breathe, eyes still closed. “Touch me.”

I dip below the horizon of wakefulness again but come back to the surface entirely when I feel Johan pushing up my nightshirt, pressing his lips on the sensitive skin of my stomach. My eyes flutter open, and Johan glances up at me, his eyes glittering.

“Good morning, love,” he says and then presses a kiss above my navel. His hand is sliding down to the waistband of my shorts, and he hooks his fingers under it, tugging it down over my hips and running his tongue over one hipbone, making me inhale sharply.

“Johan,” I murmur, my eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the room.

He crawls back up my body, peeling the duvet the rest of the way off of us. He’s shirtless, and his skin is warm when my hands find his shoulders, fingers sleepily tracing the hollows of his collarbone. His lips find mine, and his tongue slides into the cavern of my mouth. There's an urgency to his movements now like he can't contain himself.

“Hannah,” Johan mutters into the kiss, and then he’s yanking down the straps of my camisole top, exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth moves lower, kissing his way down the valley between them and closing over one nipple, the other trapped between two fingers. My back bows, and I moan, the sound foreign to my own ears.

“The years of wanting you,” he groans, “they were likely to kill me. Seeing you at Cambridge, a grown woman...you have noidea how many times I’ve stroked myself to the image of you in my mind.”

The confession sends a rush of wetness straight to my core. I want Johan so desperately, and the way his teeth are worrying my nipples, tugging on them, his hands roaming and gripping, is driving me mad.

“I have to taste you,” he says, voice thick with desire.

Oh god. My heart is pounding, and I nod. “Yes,” I repeat. “Yes, please. I want you to.”

Johan slides down my body, his palms skimming my ribs, and he pauses between my legs. My shorts are already around my thighs, and he tugs them all the way off and tosses them aside. His hands smooth down the outsides of my thighs, and his breath is hot over me, even through the cotton of my panties.

“Wider, darling,” he tells me, and I spread my thighs apart for him, letting him see all of me.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on me through the fabric of my underwear. His lips suckle the heat and the moisture from it, and I moan, lifting my pelvis towards him, aching for more contact. Johan chuckles, his hand stroking down the plane of my stomach.

“Patience, love.”

“Please,” I whimper, and Johan pulls my panties down and off of me, tossing them over the side of the bed. Then, there's nothing separating his lips and tongue from my sex. He goes slow at first, his mouth teasing and exploring, not quite yet going where I need him most. His hands are under me, cupping my bottom, his thumbs on either side of my pussy, opening me up to him.

“J-Johan,” I pant, feeling like my heart might give out.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, “just relax.”

He starts at the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses there. He trails his mouth higher, hisfive-o-clock shadow scratching deliciously. And then his lips are around my clit. Johan's tongue, flat and warm, swirls over it in tight circles, and I gasp, gripping his hair, the sheets, anything within reach.

“God, Hannah, you’re perfect,” Johan groans against me. “I want to make you come just like this. With my mouth.”

I’m panting, nearly delirious with pleasure. Johan is relentless, his tongue and lips working me in a steady, constant rhythm. He's still moving so damned slowly, and through the fog of my arousal, I’m sure that he’s drawing this out as long as possible for both of us. This is our weekend, our first time truly alone. I understand why he wants to make the most of it.

If he would just keep tonguing my clit, I know I'd be able to come, but he brings me to the edge before pulling away, peppering kisses on my folds and dipping his tongue deep into my pussy. Johan's hands flex on my ass cheeks, pulling my body closer each time a shudder or twitch takes me away from him.

He's loving me, I realize, taking his time to learn every inch of me, every reaction to the way he’s touching me. Johan is mapping me out, memorizing the details. And God, it's so fucking good.

“You’re going to have to tell me,” he murmurs, “What you want me to do. How can I make it good for you?”

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