Page 72 of Wistful Whispers
“I thought I could separate it,” I admit. “Use what I learned without getting attached. Give someone pleasure and then walk away, no strings.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Obviously, I was completely wrong, as you pointed out. The truth is—I was lonely. Medical school is a long road. Neurosurgery is even longer. Things are different with you, Marcella. I want more with you.”
The air shifts. Something deeper settles between us. Marcella reaches out and wraps an arm around my neck, her forehead rests against mine as she takes hold of my cock. “You’re a goddamn unicorn, Seamus.”
“I’ve been called worse.” I suck in a breath.
She presses her lips to mine, slow and lingering. When she pulls back, she says, “For the record, I’m honored you chose me to be your first.”
“Let’s go for twenty, no fifty more times tonight.” I buck into her hand.
She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re obnoxious.”
“You love it.”
“I really might.”
Marcella lies back on the bed, hair fanned out like a halo, curves soft and plush and goddamn perfect. Her lips are swollen from kissing. Her nipples tight.
I’ve made her come so many times I’ve lost count. Now, I want to go deeper. Show her what I’ve learned—not from a textbook, not from some article—from intuition. Dedication to loving her body. Show her the pleasure it gives me to tease out every gasp, every twitch, every moan. Make herbelievein the satisfaction I feel every time her thighs tremble and she breathes my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
I drag my palm slowly down her belly, letting it rest above the soft patch of hair between her thighs. She shivers. It’s not cold. It’s anticipation.
“Right. Let’s consider this extra credit.” I slide two fingers between her folds and find her already slick. “I’ve been taking really good notes.”
Her breath catches when I press my thumb to her clit—barely. Not rubbing, not circling. Just holding. Applying the right amount of pressure. Enough to keep her poised in a delicious limbo between tension and need.
“I figured out something about you,” I murmur, dipping my head to kiss the inside of her thigh. “You like a slow build. You think you don’t. Your body tells me otherwise.”
She exhales shakily. “I can’t believe you’re analyzing me like I’m your research project.”
“No, I’m learning the woman who means the world to me. It helps you’re my favorite study.” I grin against her skin.
Her hips jerk when I finally press my tongue to her clit, not softly—intentionally. Slow, firm laps, interspersed with the occasional flick, the occasional pull with my lips.
She moans, her hands flying to my hair. I gently pin her hips down, holding her in place so I can truly see what her body wants. Her thighs fight to close around my head, but I growl and press them apart.
“Stay open for me, baby,” I murmur, breath hot against her.
She nods, eyes wide, lips parted.
Then I switch it up—two fingers slip inside her, curling forward while my tongue strokes in rhythm. Her whole body arches. Her special spot. I’ve mapped it for hours.
Every time I feel it and witness how she comes undone? Nothing compares.
“There,” I whisper, watching her. “I’ve found it, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” she chokes out. “Seamus, Jesus—don’t stop.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I resume my favorite task.
She grabs for me, not to push away—to ground herself. Her fingers curl into my forearm as I keep the pace steady—unrelenting, patient, exacting.
She comes with a strangled cry, clenching around my fingers. Thighs quivering as her whole body locks and shakes as wave after wave crashes through her. I don’t stop. Not until I’ve wrested six orgasms in succession. Then, finally, I allow her tremors to subside and she collapses, boneless and panting, on the sheets.
When I finally slide up beside her, her eyes are still glassy. Her lips curve into something disbelieving and wild.
