Page 109 of A Promise of Peridot
“These little dresses of yours drive me fucking crazy,” I groaned, my mouth against her stomach, careful to avoid her healing injuries. Lifting up the satin, like unwrapping a gift, exposed her smooth thighs and... and the dainty white lace between them.
“Fuck.”
Arwen laughed breathlessly, her delicate fingers now in my hair, at my brow. “And you say I have a mouth like a sailor.”
I licked the skin of her thighs. Cream and honey. Like dessert.
I wasn’t going to make it through this—everyinchof her was dizzying. Her hands gentle in my hair, scraping lightly along my scalp. Her breath hitching when I cupped her round ass in my hands to drag her closer. The memories that swamped me as I sucked indulgently, indolently, on her hip bone: Her too-loud laugh when she was genuinely, truly amused. How her yawns rewarded me with that dopey, satiated expression I sometimes dreamt of. The way her eyes grew dark and determined when she ran—fast and precise and graceful.
Arwen’s thighs fell open and a sigh slipped from her lips. Shewantedthis.
I licked across her smooth lower stomach, just above that slip of fabric still covering her. Accepting her invitation, that silent ask formore. She twitched as my tongue skated over her skin.
Wrapping my hands around her hips, I pulled the undergarment down to her ankles and off, hearing the fine lace tear from the force of my grasp.
Arwen’s long hair was loose against the pillows, her white ribbon having come undone, her cheeks flushed, her wet lips parted... And those green eyes, as she held my gaze without a blink... suchtrust—
That look. I knew it was that look alone that had ruined me.
But then my eyes fell to her legs—casually, comfortably open. Relaxed. Wanting. And between them—wet and slick, pink and glistening and perfect.
My cock pulsed painfully. Near unbearable.
Gods have mercy.
I tossed the lace to the floor and wrapped my hands back around her ass, bringing my mouth down to the inside of her thigh, right beside her warm center. Arwen squirmed and clawed at me, making my cock twitch again.
She was going to have to hold still. I splayed a hand across her stomach and pinned her down to drag my tongue across her without interruption. Arwen bucked, moaning, and I nearly came apart myself.
“You taste like my dreams.”
She mumbled something incoherent, and I laughed into her, making her writhe again.
I kissed against slick, sensitive skin, exploring every inch of her, drinking in her heat and honeyed scent. Every sigh, every arch of her hips, every time her fingers reached feverishly—I would taste her like this for hours. Days. Weeks. I would never feel full of her. I would always,alwaysneed more.
I ran a single finger through her soft, wet center and groaned in satisfaction. She was drenched. Pooling at her entrance, dripping down the inside of her own thighs. So wet that I knew she was aching. That she couldn’t bear much more.
It was enough to pull all the air from my lungs as I stroked my finger back and forth in her wetness, my tongue dragging over her but never that bud, that sensitive peak—teasing, taunting her, losing myself until she was practically panting.
She mewled plaintively.
The sound turned my limbs boneless. “Is there something you want?”
“Please,” she begged as I dipped my tongue inside of her this time. “Kane,” she said in a choked whisper.
When I finally pressed my tongue to the spot she’d been pleading for, she breathed out in a rush and dug her nails into my shoulders.
She tasted so sweet, her little noises so desperate, that as I slipped my finger inside her and felt her walls clench around me, I had to shift to relieve pressure from my cock against the bed. But she was wanton and breathless and gripping me wildly, squirming as I thrust my finger in time with my tongue, flicking back and forth across that spot at the apex of her thighs.
She began to tense and stiffen, at the precipice of her release, so I withdrew to kiss along her swollen lips lightly, running my fingers up her sides to graze the swell of her breasts.
Perfect. All of her. Too perfect to be real.
Arwen arched and let out a frustrated little whimper. “Kane.” Like she couldn’t bear another moment. Like this was agony.
I understood. I wanted her release almost as badly as she did. Had wanted to feel her come apart on my tongue and fingers since nearly the moment I met her.
I traced my tongue across her once more, lingering on that spot at the apex, but never staying for long. I could barely think past this very, present moment—what she was allowing me to do to her. What she wanted from me. The only other thought, like some far-off call in the distance, was the knowledge that soon I would stroke myself only to this single memory. The memory of tasting her soft skin, hearing her little hums of pleasure. The knowledge that nothing would ever feel as good as being trusted by her, and indulging in her like this.
