Page 88 of Playing for the Hat Trick
I blow across her pussy. Just once.
She gasps, hips lifting.
“Jason—”
“Nope.” I nuzzle her slit, tongue barely flicking her clit. “You don’t get to tease and then not get ruined.”
I drag my tongue from her entrance to her clit, slow and greedy. Then I suck—firm, deliberate. Her whole body arches off the bed.
Perfect.
I slip two fingers inside her while my mouth latches onto her clit, and fuck me. She’s so wet I could drown in her. My fingers curl inside, dragging across that spot that makes her legs quake and her moans go high and broken.
“Right there?” I mumble against her, lips brushing her folds. “That what you need, Scottie?”
She chokes on my name, nodding like she’s praying I don’t stop.
So I don’t.
I lick her like it’s my last goddamn meal, fingers fucking her slow and deep, tongue relentless on her clit until she’s gasping, writhing, grabbing the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“You gonna come on my mouth, baby?” I ask, voice low and thick. “Gonna soak my face like the good girl you are?”
Her entire body locks. Then shatters.
She cries out—loud and desperate—and comes with a force that rocks through her like a wave, thighs squeezing my head, nails clawing at the sheets.
And I don’t stop.
I lick through it, into it, tasting every twitch and tremble until she’s whimpering, wrecked, breathless, and twitching beneath me.
Only then do I pull back. Crawl up her body. Kiss her hard and messy, like I didn’t just watch her fall apart for me in my bed.
She blinks up at me, dazed and glowing.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “What was that?”
I grin. “That was me being polite.”
She laughs—low and wrecked—and damn if that sound doesn’t settle in my chest like a fucking sunrise.
I lean in and kiss her. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just deep. Tongue slow, lips pressed to hers like I’ve got something to say, and this is the only language I’ve got left.
She kisses me back like she’s starting to believe I mean it.
Maybe this isn’t just sweat and orgasms and a mattress that still smells like sex.
And maybe it’s not.
Because when I pull back, I don’t see the cocky smartass who just dropped to her knees and made me forget my name.
I see the girl who made me want more.
More nights like this.
More mornings with her stealing my hoodies and pretending she doesn’t care.
More of us.
