Page 18 of Second Goal

“You,” I answer truthfully, giving in and letting go of my fears in this moment.

He groans, his lips suddenly covering mine. My own whimper vibrates in my throat, and I bury my hands in his hair. He lifts me up, my arms around his neck, thighs around his waist. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressed against me, and my panties are already soaked, my clit aching for friction, my pussy desperate to be filled by him.

He tugs at the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head, then unclasps my bra. There’s a fiery hunger in his gaze when he takes me in, before dropping his mouth and rasping his tongue around my hardened nipple.

My head arches back and I cry out as he strokes and tugs on the tender tip.

His eyes watch me as he switches to my other breast, dark, wicked hunger staring up at me. Each lick, each stroke goes straight to my womb, and I’m desperate for more. I reach for his shirt, tugging at it until he helps me pull it off, and it’s laying on the floor next to mine.

Mouth back on mine, Blake kisses me, greedily, devouring each of my moans, the unyielding throbbing of my clit making me grind against his hips.

“Blake.” His name is a plea. A plea he understands. Because the next thing I know, he’s carrying me to his bedroom and placing me on his bed. Expert fingers undo my jeans, and his lips and teeth rasp against my inner thigh as he drags them down, tossing them and my panties aside.

And then his mouth is on my pussy, tongue licking at my folds. I fight to breathe as shards of sensations whip through me mercilessly.

“I’ve fantasized about tasting you.” His voice is rough, guttural. “So much fucking better than I imagined.”

I’m laid out under him, exposed, vulnerable, and yet I’ve never felt so safe in my entire life. It’s only an illusion. But for this moment, I lose myself in the fantasy.

My fingers fist in the sheets as his mouth returns to my pussy, his fingers stroking my folds as his tongue dances across my clit.

“Oh God, Blake,” I cry out.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.” He presses my legs farther apart, devouring me with a decadent hunger.

The sensations start as a small wave and build to a crescendo of such intensity that a strangled wail rips from my throat. It keeps coming, the pleasure, washing through my body, every cell exploding with ecstasy.

It’s too much and not enough.

I grip his hair, wanting to pull him to me, needing all of him.

He kisses a trail up my stomach, over my breasts, then covers my lips.

I start to unbutton his pants, but his hand catches my wrists.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

I pull back and frown at him. “But—”

He kisses me again, soft, slow, his hand stroking my cheek. Then he reaches over and turns off the light, before pulling me into his arms.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

He presses his mouth against the top of my head. “We’re going to take this slow.”

Slow? It’s been two years of torture. Wanting him. Needing him.

“What if that’s not what I want?”

He chuckles, running a hand down my back, then slapping my bare ass gently. “It’s what you need.”

What I need is him.

I run my fingers down his ladder of abs, then over his erection that’s still straining against his pants. “Maybe this is what I need.”

He chuckles, then kisses the top of my head. “Goodnight, Kiley.”

I grunt, but a small smile touches my lips as I close my eyes.

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