Page 87 of Tough Love

“Same.”

Yet still, I know this couldn’t have happened any other way. We needed this time to find who we were, to develop as ourselves before we committed our lives to one another. He needed to gain the confidence he so obviously lacked back then, and I needed to learn that even if I wasn’t enough for one man to respect, that doesn’t mean they’re all going to treat me the same.

We needed to mature before this had a chance at being what it is.

His touch snaps me from my thoughts as he slips his fingers inside the waistband of my jeans and undoes the snap. I shimmy my hips higher to allow him to pull the fabric from my body, the tight cut giving him resistance the closer he gets to my ankles.

He smiles, his shoulders dropping, and then yanks them hard, tearing the denim over my feet. I chuckle at his playfulness, reaching for him to coax him back into my arms.

He climbs over the mattress, holding halfway so his head is directly overthere.

Oh, wow.

“Told you I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, lowering himself ever so slowly until his mouth gusts hot air over my folds.

I let my eyes slide closed, my hands fisting in the bedding as he nips gently at the sensitive flesh through the thin fabric of my panties. Heat envelops the area, and I shoot my eyes open again to take in the phenomenal sight of Evan with his head buried between my legs, his mouth open and covering my sex.

If this is how good he can make it clothed, then God help me when he takes those damn things off.

I don’t have long to prepare.

He pulls back long enough to tug my panties down my legs, rearing back so I can pull my knees up and assist. Yet it’s not the way he so deftly flicks the discarded cotton across the room, rather it’s the clear evidence of how ready and waiting he is, twitching between his legs.

He stills, following my locked gaze down to his cock. “Yeah?”

“It’s just … there.” I mirror his previous actions, reaching out as though to fondle him.

He chuckles and leans forward so that the wet head touches my palm before I can pull my hand away. “Now you have to finish what you started.”

I laugh.

He doesn’t.

Damn.

Shuffling up the bed, I reposition myself so I’m seated before him, and take his thick length in my hand. He groans as I give a slow, firm pump, all the while shuffling my legs around so I end up kneeling with my arse in the air as I contemplate just how much of him is going to fit in my mouth. Seems he grew … everywhere.

I haven’t done this for years. What if I’ve lost the knack? Can you lose the knack?

“It won’t bite.”

“You sure?”

My muscles clench at the sight of his fist wrapping around the straining flesh. He pumps his cock, using his free hand to stroke beneath my jaw, coaxing me to taste him.

I lean down and lick the glistening tip, immediately losing myself to the moment, any previous fears about inadequacies forgotten. His hand moves back and forth, matching the pace I set with my mouth, working further down him on every stroke until eventually I bottom out, the head of his cock tickling the back of my throat.

I gag, my throat closing around him, and he groans, holding my mouth in place with his hand against the back of my head. It’s forceful, yet there’s something about the way he does it that I know if I pushed back, he’d relent.

So I take him deeper. How else do I show that I trust him without actually stopping to say it?

My eyes water, my throat feels raw, but fuck it all if the sounds he produces don’t make up for it twice over.

“Scoot to the edge of the bed, babe.” He withdraws, leaving me licking my lips as he steps back.

I do as I’m told, flipping onto my back when he circles his finger in the air. Cool air hits my wet folds, and I shiver at the strange way it leaves me wanting.

“Tell me you’re clean and on protection,” he damn near begs.

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