Page 73 of No Mistakes
His breath hitches as he takes me in, his eyes never leaving me.
I step towards him slowly, watching the way his throat works, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides. “Why haven’t you spoken?” I ask quietly. “Not even to me.”
His eyes flick to mine, and he swallows hard, lips parting slightly before closing his mouth again like the words hurt to hold.
“Ant,” I whisper, eyes searching his. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t. Not yet.” He says, his voice raw.
My chest tightens. Because I hear it. The pain in those words. The restraint. The guilt. Whatever this silence is, it’s not apathy. It’s punishment. For something he hasn’t told me yet.
My hand brushes his chest, flat against his heartbeat as I feel his pulse quicken beneath my palm. “Then don’t talk,” I breathe. “Just kiss me.”
And then he’s on me.
He steps forward, pushing me back against the mirrored wardrobe next to us. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that nearly steals my breath. His hands are frantic, not rough, not rushed, but desperate. Like he’s been holding this in for too long, and now that he has me, he doesn’t want to let go.
His tongue slides against mine, tasting, teasing, demanding. And God, I give in.
His hands cup my waist, sliding up my ribs, brushing under the curve of my breasts. He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at me in front of him, and I watch as his dark, hooded eyes drink all of me in.
He slowly runs his thumbs over my nipples, brushing back and forth until they harden beneath his touch, and I gasp fromthe sensation. The sound pleasing him as he leans down, taking one into his mouth.
My head hits the mirror with a soft thud, and I moan, threading my fingers through his hair as he sucks gently, tongue flicking across the sensitive skin before switching to the other, leaving one breast glistening in the light.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
His hands spread across my back as he lowers himself to the floor, mouth never leaving my skin.
He trails kisses lower, down my stomach and along the waistband of my skirt, his breath warm and ragged. He lifts my leg, placing it over his shoulder, spreading me wider as he looks up at me like I’m something holy.
His fingers glide between my thighs, cupping me through the lace.
“Already wet,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “Jesus, Mandy.”
I can’t even answer, not when he pushes the soaked fabric aside and groans at the sight of me. He leans in, slow at first, teasing with light kisses just above where I need him, his nose brushing my skin.
“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he growls. “How many fucking nights I couldn’t sleep, just imagining the taste of you against my lips?”
I whimper, hips twitching towards his mouth, but he pulls back, holding me still with one arm hooked under my thigh, making me stay exactly where he wants me.
“Be patient,” he says, dark amusement in his voice. “I’m not rushing this.”
His tongue flicks out, soft at first, barely there while he licks a slow, delicate stripe from the bottom of my pussy to the top. He circles my clit with just the tip of his tongue, slow anddevastating, and my head pushes further against the mirror with a moan.
His mouth seals around me, tongue working in slow, precise strokes, switching between flicking, swirling, sucking until I’m trembling against the glass, my body losing all sense of control.
“Ant-”
He groans in response, the sound vibrating through me.
His fingers dip into my hips as he pulls me tighter against his mouth, tongue delving deeper, working me open like he’s trying to memorise every reaction I make.
Two fingers slide inside me, slow and thick, curling just right while his tongue stays relentless on my clit. My leg shakes over his shoulder, and I reach down, tangling my fingers in his hair, grinding against his face shamelessly.
“That’s it,” he growls against me. “Cum for me, trouble.”
That’s all it takes, and I cum hard, mouth open in a silent cry, the room spinning as he fucks me through it with his tongue and fingers, not stopping until I’m pulling at his hair, too sensitive to take more.
