Page 50 of Wicked Devotions: Part 2

I inhale sharply as his mouth closes over my clit. His tongue circles and flicks my pulsing nub with ruthless intent. My fingers dig into the thick cushion beneath me as he drives me closer and closer to the edge with the expert precision of a man who understands how to give pleasure.

Right as I’m about to explode with a powerful orgasm, he stops completely. I feel the loss of his heat immediately. He chuckles darkly at the whimper that falls from my lips at being left bereft of his touch. The sound of his shorts being pushed down makes my walls tighten in anticipation.

The cushion shifts beneath us, and he kneels between my legs. He runs his crown along my wet slit, gathering the arousal that’s leaking from me to help ease his length inside me. I arch my back, needing him inside me now.

“How much do you trust me?” he asks, still teasing me relentlessly.

“Entirely.”

“Good.” I hear him spit before I feel it land between my cheeks. “Relax for me, baby.”

He pushes inside me so delicately, so slowly, that I ache for more. More of him filling me. More pleasure from his touch. Once he’s fully inside, I feel his finger over my puckered hole. He spreads his spit around the tight ring.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs. “Exhale.”

As I follow his instructions he slides his finger inside my ass. It doesn’t hurt like I was expecting. I just feel full. So full. Once he starts moving, I really relax into the sensation. I feel everything so clearly, every inch of his length dragging along my walls. The way he just barely presses down against the walls separating his finger from his cock.

“That feels so good.” Sparks dance deep in my belly as my impending orgasm builds.

“My finger or my cock?”

“Both.” I moan as he hits a spot deep inside me. “I didn’t know it’d be this good.”

“Fuck,” he groans as I tremble around him. “Come all over my cock, gorgeous. Drench me with your cum.”

“Only if you promise to fill me with yours first.”

“Fuck,” he moans. His cock surges inside me, the first hot ropes filling me while I fall over the edge. My walls continue to milk his orgasm as we both pant and try to catch our breath. “Fuck,” he mutters again as he pulls out.

“Have I reduced your vocabulary to four letter words?” I tease as I collapse onto the cushion.

“Your pussy has.” He slaps my ass just hard enough to sting but shy of being painful. “Scoot over, so I can lay with you.”

He stands and tucks himself back into his shorts before sliding under me. His hands run up and down the length of my back, lulling me into a deep relaxation. I fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating beneath my ear and the breeze blowing through my hair.

“I can’t believeyou arranged to have this place shut down for us,” I say as I look around the olive farm we’ve come to.

Declan and Cyrus paid to have the entire day as a private experience. The sky is bright blue above us, a stark contrast to the reddish colored dirt and sparse green grass dotting the grove of olive trees. We each have a basket to fill with olives we pick.

“I wanted you to have a small taste of Greece.” Cy looks around with a melancholic expression on his face. “I spent so much time picking olives from my parents’ small grove as a kid.”

My eyes meet Emerson’s gaze. A look of sadness fills his blue eyes as he watches the wistful and sad memories filter across Cy’s face. I know his childhood was hard, every bit as traumatizing as mine, but I know Emerson knows far more. He feels Cy’s sadness much more deeply than I do.

“And I didn’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of random people,” Declan grumbles. His grumpy attitude lightens the mood as Cy pulls an olive off the tree and throws it at him.

“Don’t be such an ass.”

Truthfully, I am glad that Declan paid to have the farm closed for us. It’ll be a fun way to bond, first with the picking and harvesting of olives and then seeing them milled and pressed into oil in the afternoon.

Our guide shows us to the trees that are ready to be harvested and then leaves us to work on our own. Once it’s just the four of us, we fall into a steady rhythm. Declan and Emerson reach for the highest olives, Cy for the middle, and I go for the lowest.

“I’m going to need to go to a family thing tomorrow night,” Cy says when we start talking about plans for the rest of the trip.

“Should one of us go with you?” Emerson asks.

“No. If everything goes well, I’ll be back after a couple hours. It’ll be best if I go alone.”

The three guys stop what they’re doing and stare each other down. It’s almost as if they’re having some silent conversation I’m not privy to. Their years of friendship before I entered the picture makes me feel, at times, isolated and like an outsider.

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