Page 71 of Dirty Game
"Yes."
"Then lie back. Let me show you something."
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my whole body tense with anticipation and nerves.
I feel him push the shirt up higher, exposing me completely from the waist down, and I fight the urge to close my legs.
"Breathe," he instructs softly. "Just breathe and feel."
Then his mouth touches me—just the lightest brush of lips against sensitive flesh, my back arches off the bed, a sound escaping me that I've never made before.
"That's it," he encourages, hands on my thighs, keeping me steady but not restraining. "Let me hear you. Your sounds are beautiful."
He starts slowly, gently, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan.
His tongue explores, maps, and discovers.
When he finds a particular spot that sends lightning through my body, I cry out, hands flying to his hair—not to push away but to hold on, to ground myself in sensation that threatens to sweep me away.
"Varrick," I gasp, his name broken on my lips.
"Say it again."
"Varrick."
"Show me," he says against me, the vibration of his words making me shudder. "Show me how to give you what you need. Pull my hair if you want me closer. Push if you need me to ease up. Your body knows what it wants."
"I don't—oh god—I don't know?—"
"Yes, you do. Listen to your body. What does it want?"
"More," I hear myself say, surprising us both. "Please, more."
He gives me more, increasing the pressure, the speed, and suddenly I'm climbing toward something, a peak I can feel approaching but don't understand.
My thighs start to shake, my breathing becomes erratic, and sounds pour from my throat that I didn't know I could make—whimpers and moans and his name, over and over.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Let it happen. I've got you."
"I can't—I don't—it's too much?—"
"It's not too much. You're perfect. Let go, Rosalynn. Give it to me."
Something about the command in his voice, the plea underneath it, breaks my resistance.
The wave crashes over me, and I shatter into a thousand pieces.
His name tears from my throat like a prayer.
The first time I've ever said it without fear, with nothing but pleasure and need and something that might be love. "Varrick! Oh god, Varrick!"
He works me through it, gentle now, until I'm trembling and oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
"Too much," I gasp.
He immediately pulls back, kisses the inside of my thigh once more, then moves up the bed to lie beside me.
That's when I realize I'm crying.
