Page 9 of A Forbidden Arrangement
His mouth leaves my breasts, trailing heat down the center of my body. I feel his hands slide lower, firm and possessive on my hips.
Panic flares sharply in my chest. Heat rushes to my face, and I press my knees together on instinct, but his hands are already holding me open.
“You don’t have to do that.” I do my best to shove him back.
He doesn’t move away. Instead, he drags his nose along my slit, slow and deliberate, brushing over me like he’s savoring the contact. I hear the faint, unmistakable sound of him inhaling again, and my cheeks burn hotter.
“There is nothing I want to do more right now,” he says, and the rough certainty in his voice sends a pulse of heat through me that I can’t ignore.
“I haven’t showered,” I say, the words rushing out before I can stop them. It’s ridiculous, given everything he’s already done, but the thought still claws at me.
My protest doesn’t even slow him down. His mouth is on me a second later, warm and wet, the first slow stroke of his tongue pulling a gasp from my chest.
I squeeze my eyes tight, voice shaky and small as I admit, “I… I can’t come like that.”
The confession burns in my throat, but I force it out anyway, pushing back the memories of Bradley’s disappointment in me. He hated that I couldn’t come, said I was somehow defective. That normal women come instantly from it.
I ended up just faking it, moaning to make it sound real.
But I don’t want to do that tonight. I never want to have to pretend again. So I push him back. “I’ve…I’ve never come from that.”
His eyes darken, a slow, dangerous shift that makes my stomach clench. “You have no idea what you’re fucking doing to me.”
His grin turns feral as his fingers dig into my ass, lifting and tilting me until I’m exactly where he wants me. The change in position forces a sharp exhale from my lungs, my pulse kicking harder.
“Xander,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“What?” I rasp, caught in the heat of his stare.
“So you know what name to call when you’re coming all over my tongue.”
The words slam into me, raw and certain, leaving no space for doubt. My pulse hammers in my ears. Every nerve feels like it’s lit from within, straining for his next move.
Bradley always treated this like a chore, a box to check before getting to what he wanted.
Xander is nothing like that.
Every time his tongue slides over me, he lingers just long enough to make my thighs shake, his lips sealing around me like he’s trying to draw every drop of me into his mouth. A low, satisfied hum in his throat vibrates through me as his grip on my hips tightens. He’s not rushing. He’s here, devouring me like it’s his reward, like he’s getting drunk on the taste of me.
Each lick drags over me with deliberate care, his mouth creating a steady rhythm that coils heat tighter and tighter inside me. His groan deepens against my skin. He’s enjoying this. The taste. The control. The way I can’t stop moving for him.
When his eyes lift to mine, hooded, glazed over with lust, my chest tightens.
“You taste so fucking good,” he says, his voice low enough that I feel it more than I hear it.
The praise makes my toes curl, and any remaining embarrassment vanishes.
His tongue changes pace, the strokes coming quicker now, each one hitting the spot that makes my breath hitch. My hands find his hair without thinking, fingers tightening when he presses his mouth harder against me. The pull of his tongue and the slow suck of his lips send heat racing through me in quick, dizzying waves.
I can feel my control slipping, my body moving on its own, rocking up into him like I can’t get close enough. He doesn’t stop me. If anything, his grip on my hips urges me to give him more.
Every sound he makes feeds the fire inside me. The wet slide of his tongue. The deep, rough groan when my thighs clamp around his head. The quiet curse he groans into me like he can’t help himself.
It’s too much and not enough, all at once. My head tips back, a gasp tearing from my throat as another rush of heat coils tight and sharp in my belly. I’m close, closer than I’ve ever been like this, and I can’t decide if I want to hold on or let it take me under.
His mouth stays on me, tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes, when his hand slides between my thighs. The first brush of his fingertips has my hips twitching, my body greedy for more before I can think.
He presses two inside me, the stretch making my breath catch, and starts a steady rhythm that has my pulse pounding in my ears. His mouth never leaves me, his tongue circling in time with every thrust of his fingers. Then he curls them, finding a spot so deep and perfect my vision goes white at the edges.
