Page 76 of Victorious: Part 2
Freedom.
The freedom to explore whatever this is between us without worrying about who’s watching or what it means for the club.
“You’re sure?” I ask because I need to hear it.
I need to know she’s choosing this,choosing me,with full awareness of what it means.
“I’m sure about a lot of things,” she says, echoing her words from earlier. “I’m sure I want you. I’m sure I’m tired of pretending I don’t. And I’m sure that if you keep looking at me like that without doing something about it, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”
The air shifts. It’s thick, sultry, humming with the promise of everything we’ve been holding back.
That’s all the permission I need.
I crash my lips to hers, kissing her as if I’m starving and she’s the only thing that’s ever tasted right. My hands are greedy, gripping her waist, her hips, sliding up under her tank to feel the soft warmth of her skin. She moans against my mouth, her hips shifting to grind against me and fuck, I’m already aching again.
I yank her top over her head, breaking the kiss for just a moment as she lifts her arms to help. She’s bare underneath, and the moment I see her, I forget how to breathe. Her breasts rise and fall with her uneven breaths, her nipples taut peaks begging for attention.
“Jesus,” I murmur, brushing a knuckle down the luscious curve. “You’re beautiful.”
She blushes, ducking her head for a second, and it damn near kills me. “Your turn,” she says, tugging my shirt.
I strip it off, and her eyes roam over my chest, her fingers following slowly. Each brush of her touch leaves fire in its wake, but when she traces the ink over my ribs, my brother’s birthday, I still.
“I love this,” she whispers. Then she leans in and presses her lips to the ink, soft and reverent, like she knows exactly what it means. It’s not just hot, it’s intimate in a way that roots something deep in my chest.
I bury my hands in her hair, wanting more, needing hercloser, but then she pulls back, her eyes devilish with lust.
“I want to try something.” She grins.
“What did you have in mind?”
She slides down my body, kneeling between my legs. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, just this bold, beautiful woman deciding to ruin me in the best possible way.
Her fingers work my belt, eyes locked on mine.
“Clover…” I warn.
“I want to,” she interrupts. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you. About how you’d taste. Ever since that first night in the desert.”
Jesus.
My jeans hit the floor, and I’m already throbbing by the time she takes me in her small hand.
“Tell me what you like,” she asks softly. “I want to make this good for you.”
That vulnerability, that want, strips me bare. “You’re already doing it,” I say, voice hoarse. “You’re making it perfect.”
She kisses my tip first, slow and deliberate, as though she’s savoring the moment. Then her mouth opens, warm and wet, and wraps around me, and I swear to God I see the heavens split. My head falls back, a curse slipping from my lips. “Fuck.”
She starts slow. Gentle licks, teasing strokes with her tongue along the underside, learning every reaction she pulls from me. Her hand grips my thigh for balance as her other wraps around the base, syncing with the steady rhythm of her mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” I breathe, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, just like that.”
She hums softly in response, and the vibration makes my hips jerk. When she starts to get bolder, taking me deeper, faster, I nearly lose it. Every suck, every swirl of her tongue, ratchets the pressure higher. It’s not just physical, it’s emotional, the way she’s giving this to me, how present she is in it, like she wants tounravel me.
Fuck, she is unraveling me!
“Clover… I’m close,” I grit out. “You might wanna—”
