Page 43 of Burning Daylight
And then he’sthere. His thick fingers beneath the fabric and cupping me where I’m begging for him the most.
I moan, and his eyes flash, his fingers exploring.
“Does that feel good?” he rasps.
“So good,” I reply, biting my lip.
He presses harder, slow circles against my clit until I’m throbbing and swollen and aching for him to fill me.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked.” His tone is awed. “Is this all for me, Little Rose?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes.”
He dips his head, his lips brushing against my jaw as his fingers move slow and teasing, just enough to make me pant.
“You’ve been driving me crazy since the moment I saw you. Walking around like you don’t know how fucking sexy you are.”
I gasp, clutching the fabric of his shirt.
His mouth grazes my ear. “You’re going to let me make you come, right here on this couch, with my hand on your pussy like the filthy girl you are, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe out again, because apparently, it’s the only thing I can say.
“Tell me what you need,” he growls, his voice raspy.
“You, I need your fingers,” I plead, heat spreading beneath my skin. “Put them in me.”
He listens, sliding them from my clit down to my entrance and dipping them inside, and then before I can eventhink, his mouth crashes against mine, hot and demanding, his lips pulling a gasp from my throat. He takes full advantage, slipping his tongue in and tangling it with mine like he owns my breath now, too. He tastes liketrouble, and temptation, and whatever this tension is that’s been crackling between us since the second we met.
It’s teeth, and tongue, and hunger, and I fist the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing anchoring me on Earth.
He groans low in his chest when I bite down on his bottom lip, and the sound reverberates through me.
His free hand moves to frame my face, his thumb brushing over my jaw, and the contrast of his mouth being desperate andhis touch being reverent is dizzying. I tilt my head and deepen the kiss, and when I suck his tongue, it’s like a dam breaks.
Suddenly, we’re notjustkissing anymore, we’re devouring.
He finally pulls away, his fingers curling deep inside me, and his palm pressing with the perfect amount of pressure against my clit and moving in slow circles.
“You feel so good,” he says. “So soft. So wet.”
I arch into him, every thought dissolving except how he’s finger-fucking me within an inch of my life, and how is itpossiblethat no other man has made me feel as good with their cock as he does with his hand?
“I’ve wanted this since the second you opened that smart little mouth on that cliff,” he murmurs. “Thought about what you’d sound like. How you’d taste.”
I whimper. “You’re such a liar.”
“I am.” He smirks. “But not about this.”
His thumb circles my clit in slow, devastating strokes. “Don’t go quiet on me now, baby. Let me hear you.”
“I can’t?—”
“Youcan.”
My head falls back, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth finds my neck, his teeth dragging across the skin there, and the tension coils tight, heat spreading up my legs, wrapping around my back and squeezing into my chest.
