Page 119 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
Her light laughter fills the air between us, the sound so carefree and full of joy that those tears almost fall. I cage her in with one hand on either side of where she sits, and she takes my face in her palms, dragging her fingers through my beard.
Fuuuuck.
I groan at the sensation. “God, I’ve missed this.”
Tilting her head slightly, she examines me. “What?”
“You being here in my house.” I kiss her softly. “Your scent.” Another brush of my lips. “The sound of your laughter and those little gasps you make when you come.” Another one—longer and deeper. “You touching me like this…”
She does it again, harder this time, and the low growl that rolls from my chest sounds more animal than human. My eyes drift closed as I relish the feel of her nails on my face, my neck, my chest.
My body trembles.
I open my eyes to find her watching me, waiting for me to do or say something, to make the move because she doesn’t like having to be in control.
She wants me to take it.
She needs me to.
Because everything in her life feels so out of it.
“How long until things have to come out of that oven?”
She glances back at the timer. “Twenty minutes.”
I issue another growl, sliding my hands from the counter up to her hips and squeezing, ensuring I’m low enough that I won’t tweak her still-healing ribs. “I don’t like being on the clock”—my lips drift over hers—“but I can make twenty minutes work.”
Those nails score across my chest, making my entire body shudder, and Willow laughs as I tug on the waistband of her leggings and slide them down her thighs, along with her thong.
I toss them to the side, not caring where they land, before I drop to my knees, drag her legs over my shoulders, and bury my face in my favorite place in the world.
Fuck, yes.
Of all the things I’ve missed, this is at the top of my list.
Giving her pleasure.
Making her come all over my tongue.
Feeling her fall apart and forget everything else in the world.
Something we both desperately need right now.
She gasps at the first contact of my tongue against her slick core, tunneling her hands through my hair, tugging on the strands sharply.
Fuuuuuck.
The taste of her arousal.
The sting on my scalp.
The way she leans back until her head and shoulders meet the wall behind her for leverage, giving me better access, allowing me to spread her even wider.
All of it is too much and not enough at the same time.
I glide my tongue through her wet heat, savoring the woman as if she’s my last meal, because she is. If I ever lose her again, I don’t know how I’d survive it. This is the only place I want to be every moment for the rest of my life.
Like this.
