Page 60 of Tattered Edges

I didn’t want to tell.

I wanted to show.

I stood to my feet, reaching for him.

He met me halfway, kissing me slower this time.

When he reached for the clasp at the back of my bra, my breath caught.

My heart was racing when he lifted his mouth away from mine, trailing his fingers across my skin as he guided the straps over my shoulders and down my arms.

I was aware of my shallow breaths as I stood under his gaze, but I couldn’t help it. I was too consumed by the moment.

My bra hit the floor, and he took me by the hands, guiding me toward the blanket. He didn’t need to tell me to lie down, I just did it. I knew it was the right thing to do when he got down on his hands and knees and began to worship my body.

It was the only word I could use to describe it.

From my lips to my jaw—from the sensitive spot behind my ear down the length of my neck—across my collarbone and between my breasts—along the valley of my stomach, to the barrier of my jeans, his mouth traveled, leaving a lingering trail of hot kisses as he went.

I was practically squirming when he peeled off my jeans. He left on my panties, which were soaked, making me crazy as he tasted his way up my leg from my ankle.

When he’d reached my thighs, he spread me open, then brazenly dragged his nose over the seamless cotton panties I waswaytoo aroused to be embarrassed by.

Then he opened his mouth, latching onto me through the fabric, and I was sure I couldn’t take anymore.

Burying my fingers in his hair, I bent my legs, planted my feet, and arched my back off the floor.

“Rory,” I moaned, breathless. “Please,” I begged.

Mercifully, he shoved aside the fabric between his mouth andme, and I was suddenly levitating.

I mewled, the sound almost swallowing up his groan as he devoured me.

He didn’t stop until I was a heap of trembling nerves spread out on the floor.

Once he was finished, his lips still grazing my sex, he cast his gaze on me from beneath his lashes. Those blue eyes were ablaze like a victorious conqueror.

It was only fitting.

That’s exactly what he was—and I wanted a taste of him.

“My turn,” I declared, freeing his hair from my grip.

He sat up, settling himself on his haunches. When he reached for my panties, finally removing them, I thought maybe that was his silent way of telling me I wasn’t going to get my way.

Then he stood, looked down at me and asked, “Should I undress myself, or would you like to?”

I was on my knees a second later, anxious to strip him completely bare.

Unlike him, when I had Rory naked and standing in front of me, I didn’t have an ounce of patience to spare. He was very well groomed, with barely enough hair for me to be sure he was red everywhere, and it only increased my longing. I went straight for the prize, which was already hard and all but begging for my attention.

“Bloody hell,” he grunted, both of his hands finding purchase in my hair.

I stroked as I sucked, losing myself in the soundtrack of his pleasure. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of what he’d given me. Except, before I could get him there, he was pulling me away.

“Enough,” he demanded, his grip in my hair almost painful. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

“But—”

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