Page 146 of Reverse

“All right, I’m going to get it out of you,bet. Now, let me help you come.”

“Okay,” I say, raking my lip as we stare at each other for several seconds, the ever-present pull palpable as I lose myself in the look in his eyes. Certain he can see the arousal building on my face, he bites his lip and slowly releases it.

“I’m so fucking hard for you already.”

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“All of it,” he pants, pumping his cock again.

“Easton—” I breathe as he lowers the camera giving me the most amazing view. “I’m aching so bad right now,” I whisper, hearing the need in my voice.

“Will you let me see more of you?”

“Okay, but promise me, no screenshots.”

“Not fucking ever,” he says with a dangerous edge. “Are you wet?”

“Very.”

“Spread your legs,” he commands with little restraint, “show me.”

I do and am instantly rewarded with an answering groan. On fire and anxious to earn more of them, I lower the camera further, spreading myself with my free hand before drawing my wetness up to my clit.

“Jesus. Fuck, Beauty,” he pants. “Now suck those fingers,” he orders gruffly, “like you would suck me.”

I lift the camera and swirl my tongue over the pads of my fingers, tasting myself before sucking them down to the knuckle.

“Put them inside you, nice and slow.” I groan his name as I do. “That’s where I want to be right fucking now,” he grits out, tension in his voice. “Your face,” he whispers. “I can’t look at what I can’t eat anymore. All I need to see is your face.” Lifting my phone, I’m met by the fire burning in his mesmerizing depths, his lust-covered expression bringing me closer.

“Massage your clit.”

Soaked and panting, I stroke my sweet spot and find myself on the brink within quick seconds. “Easton,” I gasp. “I’m already . . .”

He starts to stroke himself furiously as I press my head back into the pillow and close my eyes.

“Look at me while you come.”

My orgasm unfurls through me in soft waves as I exhale his name. His eyes close briefly at the sound of it before he covers his stomach with his own release.

“How was that?” He asks, heavy breathing subsiding.

“Definitely not lame, but not nearly enough. Thanks a lot. You’ve ruined me.”

“That’s just the start,” he assures as he heads back into the bathroom and wets a rag to clean himself off. The act of watching him do it is so intimate that I somehow feel closer to him in those seconds.

“It’s been the perfect night, the perfect date. How in the hell did people do long-distance before FaceTime?”

“Phone calls, letters,” he says.

“And emails,” I add, which earns me a warning look. “It had to be so much harder back then.”

“I’m glad we don’t have to fucking deal.” He slips back into bed, palm cradling his head, bicep bulging next to him, eyes glittering with warmth and affection. I burn the sight of it into memory.

“Get some sleep, Beauty. You’ve got an article to write for me tomorrow.”

“You’re reading my columns?”

“Every day, like religion. Why wouldn’t I read them? It’s your passion, and you should know,” he gives me a warm half-smile, “even though I rag on you, I love the way you tell stories.”

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