Page 72 of Booked for the Holidays
I stroke him harder and soon there’s precum leaking from his tip. I reach forward to lick it, but Liam has other plans.
“Lie back. Head over the edge of the bed.”
Without a second thought, I scoot back to lie across the bed, letting my head hang just over the edge like I’ve imagined in more than one late-night fantasy. My hair spills over, nearly brushing the floor, while my chest rises with each breath, and I wait.
He moves to the edge of the bed, and the sight of him upside down makes my pulse throb everywhere at once.
“Now open that perfect mouth for me, Firefly,” he says softly, but there’s nothing soft about his gaze. “I want you to take me just like this. I want to see your lips stretched so fucking tight around me.”
I open for him. Greedy, aching, desperate for the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing that’s ever satisfied him, yet I haven’t even started.
My tongue slips out to swirl the head of his cock, finally getting a taste of him.
As I wrap my lips around him and begin to move, his hands brace on either side of my ribs, keeping me still beneath him, and he groans like he’s coming undone. But I can feel the control simmering in him—tight, electric, coiled.
He bends over me and drops a kiss to my belly. Loving the sensation of his mouth there, my hips rock upward.
The angle changes and I take him farther into my mouth.
I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, feeling a shiver ripple through him as I tighten my grip around his base. His fingers flex at my hips, and I can tell he’s barely holding on.
But then, without warning, he leans forward. One hand slides up my thigh, spreading me open again, and the next thing I know, his mouth is on me.
His tongue sweeps up my center, hot and slow. The sensation liquefies me. For a moment, I lose my rhythm, my hand faltering on his shaft as a moan catches in my throat.
He doesn’t let up.
One hand curls around my thigh, anchoring me, while the other spreads across my lower belly, keeping me perfectly tilted to him. I can’t see him from this angle, but I feel everything. Every breath. Every flick of his tongue. Every soft groan that vibrates straight through my core.
Then he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and rough against my skin.
“Fuck, Firefly,” he mutters, kissing the inside of my thigh. “You taste like sugar and sin.”
I have no words. All I can think is I wonder how we look right now? My head hanging off the bed with his cock down my throat while he licks between my legs.
The sensation of him licking me while I have him in my mouth is a sensory overload I never could’ve prepared for. A sharp bolt of pleasure zips through me, and I moan, the vibration pulling a curse from deep in his chest.
“That feel good, Firefly?”
I hum a yes, mouth full, and he chuckles darkly before diving back in. It’s messy and maddening and so utterly him—always pushing, always wrecking me in the best way.
And all I can think, as he worships me from between my legs while I do the same for him, is how completely I’ve unraveled in his hands.
And how I never want this—him—to stop.
I suck him deeper in response, needing something to ground me, to keep me tethered through the way he’s absolutely wrecking me with his mouth.
His groan vibrates against me again. “You’re addictive.”
He presses two fingers inside me, and I gasp, my thighs beginning to tremble. “Oh my god…”
“Come for me,” he growls, more command than plea. “I want every drop of it, baby.”
And then he sucks my clit, firm and steady, and it detonates something inside me. I come hard, thighs shaking, my cry choked around his cock as I fall apart against his mouth.
He growls in satisfaction, licking me through it, like he’s trying to memorize the way I taste, the way I sound, the way I fall to pieces just for him.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, like a vow only the two of us will ever hear.
