Page 69 of Can't Always Get What You Want

There is nothing normal about what’s happening to me right now.

My hands are in his hair. His mouth is—God. His mouth is on me.

Not justonme. He’sconsumedwith me.

Worshipping as if he’s memorizing every single reaction I have; the way I smell. Sound. Taste.

I’m not even in control of how I respond to him anymore.

Every time his tongue moves, I feel myself leaving my own body. Floating. Defying gravity, halfway to the ceiling, watching myself dissolve from the inside out.

Jelly.

Limbless…

Like I’m notjustbeing touched—I’m being rewritten.

So, so good…

The logical part of my brain flails in a corner, screaming that I should pace myself so I don’t come too soon. So I don’t start moaning and groaning and forgetting the man whose head is between my legs.

Feelings. Attachment. Getting eaten out by someone who plays on the same damn team as my overprotective brother…

Bad girl.

Bad, bad girl…

The rest of me--the parts under his hands?

Do not care about any of those things.Not even a little.

My pussy is literally throbbing…

Big, baddie Luca Babineaux is on his knees in my bedroom with a mouth made of sin and hands somehow managing to make me feelgroundedandweightlessboth at the same time.

I am losing my mind over it.

I have died and gone to heaven.

Holy hell. “Oh my God…”

Luca between my thighs and my pulse thundering in my ears, there’s only one truth I can’t deny:

I’ve never felt more wanted.

More seen.

More undone.

And for the first time in a very long time, I don’t want to be in control.

I wanthimto be.

“Kiss me,” I blurt out.

“I am.”

It draws a wracked laugh out of me. “I meant on my mouth.”

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