Page 36 of His To Erase
I know he knows too, because I feel it in the slow curve of his mouth against my skin. In the way he doesn’t even bother looking up before his teeth scrape me again, only harder this time.
A growl bursts low in my throat.
God, I hate him.
I hate that I’m letting this happen, and that I’m wet for this man I don’t even know. I haven’t had a man touch me like this in… God, I don’t even know how long.
Every cell in my body is screaming yes while my pride dies a quiet, painful death. But I still don’t stop him.
And he doesn’t wait.
His fingers hook the side of my panties—dragging them aside slowly. He wants me to feel every second of it.
"What do you think you’re doing?"
The words come out sharper than I expect. A last-ditch flare of pride.
His mouth brushes higher, and his lips are maddeningly close to where I’m already dripping for him.
Then he says, dark and commanding. "Hold still, and be quiet."
The first slow drag across my slit sends a jolt through my entire body, my legs threatening to give out where I stand.
A strangled sound tears from my throat before I can even try to hold it in. It’s pathetic, and it echoes louder than it should in the empty library.
God, I hope no one’s over here. And more importantly what the fuck am I doing?
He groans against me.Groans. Like he’s been starved for this and I’m his reward.
My thighs twitch, and I can feel the ladder digging into my palms the tighter I hold on, every muscle in my body is pulled tight.
It feels so fucking good, yet nowhere near enough.
My mind scrambles for something to focus on. The books. The chill in the air. The flickering overhead light. Anything but the way his tongue just circled my clit like he knew exactly what would make my knees go weak.
I can feel the slow, filthy flick of his tongue tasting the exact moment I lose every ounce of self control.
This is insane. What am I doing?
His hands are holding me open now—spreading my thighs like I belong to him.
And the way he’s licking me?
God.
Every flick of his tongue is a brand. Every slow, punishing stroke is him saying mine without needing to speak.
And I am fucking here for it. I hate how much I love it, and I hate the way my hips rock forward, chasing every flicker of pressure like I’m starving for it. He’s wrecked me with nothing but his mouth.
Then he pulls back. Just for a breath, long enough to blow against my soaked cunt and I nearly come undone.
"Already shaking," he murmurs, voice dark and wrecked and way too fucking satisfied.
"I’ve barely even started."
I’m going to kill him.Right after I come.
I grit my teeth, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Then maybe get on with it and stop narrating.”
