Page 68 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Wet. Plump. Mine,” I growl, stroking my fingers through her labia, parting her and dragging my fingers up until I find the hard, sensitive bud of her clit and circle it.
More learning.
More teasing.
More wanting her as desperate for me as I am for her.
Because my control is running thin. Because sooner or later it’s going to snap.
And I need to make sure she’s right here with me.
“I—” She starts to protest when I pull my hand out, but I have other plans, other needs, other places I need to taste her.
I press her back into the counter and because those lips of hers are right there, so tempting and plump and pink, I kiss her.
Sparks coalescing into ropes of lightning, zipping around every nerve in my body, threatening the dredges of my control, especially when her legs come around me, when her hips rock and grind and send me right up to the edge.
“Christ, Red,” I rasp, tearing my lips from hers. “You sure can kiss.”
Her cheeks are flushed and those brown eyes are melted chocolate and her lips are swollen, reddened from my beard.
I need more.
Need her.
But I need to taste her everywhere.
I retreat from the temptation of her mouth and kiss my way down her body, knowing that her tank top bunched around her middle is probably annoying, but not wanting to stop my southern trek to take it off. Not when I have much more pleasurable routes to take. Much more pleasurable destinations—for both of us—to arrive at.
I trail my lips along her abdomen, nibbling at the indent of her waist, dipping my tongue into her belly button, loving the way her stomach ripples and contracts, her breath catches, her hands find their way back into my hair.
Love even more the way she readily lifts her hips, allowing me to shimmy off her pajama pants and underwear.
Pink cheeks.
Teeth nibbling into the corner of her mouth.
Shy eyes.
“So fucking pretty,” I murmur, loving the way those pink cheeks go pinker as I press my lips to the inside of her thigh. “But even prettier here.” I drag my tongue through her slick folds.
“Gray!”
“That’s it, Red. Say my fucking name.”
It’s not even about control at this point—though, I love the sound of my name on her tongue—it’s about her letting go enough to trust me.
She gasps.
Because I’ve decided to stop talking.
Or maybe to let her do all of it—and she delivers, in moans and cries, in gasped-out exclamations. In my name tumbling off her tongue again and again as I explore every inch of her lush, wet cunt, as I suck at her clit and slip my finger inside her to feel the tight clasp of her pussy.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan against her flesh. “You’re going clamp down around me so hard.”
“I want…” A shaking exhale. “You… Inside.”
I slowly slide my finger out then press it back in. “What if I’m not done teasing you yet?”
