Page 63 of Heartbreaker

But Royal isn’t the type of man you can be too timid with. He’s the kind of guy who’ll eat you alive. Both physically and emotionally. If I’m going to be with him—in whatever capacity he’ll allow—I have to show him I can give as good as I can get.

My body hums with the memory of his body on mine.

Around mine.

Insideof mine.

“Take them off,” I say, lifting my hips so he can get my pants down. He takes my panties with them and then I’m naked. And he’s still almost fully dressed.

I press my knees together.

“Your shirt,” I rasp. “I like the view.”

One side of his mouth tilts up in a wicked smile. “That so?”

He slowly, almost painfully, pulls it over his head.

“Now pants.”

His eyes never leave mine as he drops them—along with his boxers.

Oh jiminy crickets, I love his penis.

I can’t wait to feel it inside me again.

But first, his tongue.

And when he drops to his knees in front of me, my world is reduced to nothing but the expectation of what’s to come—and the man before me.

The dark—but incredibly sensual—look in his eyes as he moves between my legs.

The way his unruly hair falls forward when he leans in, tickling the inside of my thigh.

The heat from his mouth as he presses a soft kiss there, then along the crease of my thigh, my pubic bone.

“You wet for me, Shortcake?”

My cheeks flush, but I nod, admit, “So wet.”

“Hmm. I see that.” He’s staring down at the most intimate part of me, and yet I feel no embarrassment. This moment is everything I want it to be—and I know he feels the same just by the look on his face. He’s normally so surly and closed off, but in this case, his face is the mirror of his soul. I know exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, just by how he looks at me.

With one finger, he gently traces a path between my legs, spreading the evidence of my desire around. I’m so turned on, my body completely in sync with his touch, it’s hard to think. I like how it feels when he’s touching me. Especially down there.

He leans in and drags his lips across my skin and then—oh sweet Jesus, that’s good. His tongue is warm and wet against my swollen flesh, and I arch up to get more.

“Wait, baby…let me enjoy this—and you.” His voice is gruff, as if taking his time is painful, and I sigh with a combination of excitement and frustration. I want more, but I want to slow everything down at the same time so this moment lasts longer.

“Oh!” My hips buck of their own volition when he sucks my clit into his mouth, but he presses me back down with the flat of his hand on my abdomen.

When he licks a trail down my slit, there’s nothing I can do but go along for the ride. He’s patient and skilled, as if he already knows everything I like. Because he does. His mouth, his lips—it’s like every part of him is completely in tune with every part of me.

He dips a finger inside me, then two, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“Oh, please!” I cry out, anxious for release. Doing it myself doesn’t compare to how it feels when he makes me come, and my fingers find their way into his hair—something I’ve noticed I do a lot—tugging with urgency.

I feel his rumble of laughter against me, but he doesn’t stop or pick up the pace—just continues his lazy, sensual assault on me. It feels amazing, but it’s also sexier than anything I’ve ever done before, watching his dark head buried between my legs. And the sounds he’s making—like I’m a delicious meal and he can’t get enough—turn my insides to mush.

“Come on my tongue, baby,” he orders, moving faster, deeper.

---