Page 67 of Sunshine
He wants to go down on me.
“So, I’ll ask again.” Dylan tugs at my jeans where they’re barely hitched on my hips. “Can I taste you?”
My voice cracks as anticipation melts in my core. “Yes, Chef.”
Dylan lifts me up onto the table so quickly I squeak. He slips my boots off my feet, removes my socks, and I lift my ass as he drags my jeans and underwear down over my legs and drops them on the floor. It takes a second to realize I’m completely naked, but any self-consciousness is forgotten when Dylan places one gentle hand between my breasts, the other behind my head, and eases my back onto the timber. Then he sets my heels on the edge of the table and opens me wide.
I lay there like an offering. A sacrifice. A feast.
Dylan drags the chef’s hat from his head as he stands there looking at me, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. My skin pebbles under his gaze, and I wonder what he’s thinking as I take in his form again, the adorably sexy bow tie over the sharp lines of his collarbones, the round strength of his shoulders, the carved planes of his chest. The narrow waist and sharp hips above the waist of his pristine white apron…which is now tented with his erection.
With my heart flying and my pulse throbbing between my legs, Dylan takes a glass of champagne, holds it a few inches above my throat, and trickles it over my body. I shiver as the ice-cold liquid spills between my breasts and runs down my rib cage, and again, when he splashes more over my stomach. It pools in my navel before he pours the final mouthful on my wet center. When he’s done, he gazes down at me like I’m a work of art, a masterpiece, a dish he’s creating, like he’s not sure where to start, when to finish, or how to take the first bite.
No man has ever looked at me with this kind of intensity before, and I know with sudden, soul-level certainty that no other man ever will.
Dylan picks a strawberry from the basket and traces my lips with its tip, but as I open my mouth to accept the fruit, it moves out of reach. Dylan ghosts the strawberry over my skin, following the lines of my body as he dips over the hollow at my throat, the swell of each breast, the tip of each hard, aching nipple. Through the champagne clinging to the dips of my hip bones. I arch off the table with a moan as the cold fruit moves lower, and Dylan grazes my clit with pressure so light it’s almost painful. And then I gasp as Dylan drags the berry lower, drowning it in my wetness.
With his hungry blue eyes on mine, the strawberry and his fingers coated in wine and my arousal, Dylan brings the fruit to his mouth and takes a slow bite. His eyes float closed as he swallows, and when they open again, there’s a madness in them that I only see for a moment before he drops to his knees, slips his hands around my ankles, and spreads me wider than I thought was possible.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Dylan asks as he coasts his palms up the inside of my legs before he kneads my upper thighs, so close to my lower lips without ever touching them. “How pretty your goddamn pussy is?”
He leans in, and I brace for contact, throbbing as his hot breath caresses my skin and tensing at the exact wrong moment.
Dylan chuckles lightly. “Breathe, Sunshine, and relax,” he rasps, his scruffy jawline against my skin, and I sag against the table with a whimpering sigh. “That’s right. Let me enjoy this.”
His first lick is long and leisurely, the flat of his tongue sweeping up to my clit and pausing there for a series of smooth, slow swirls before he kisses me tenderly. Dylan licks me again, this time with a lusty moan that I feel all the way to my sternum. My nails scratch the tabletop, unable to find purchase.
Dylan smiles against my center, my only warning before he grips my hips, yanks me forward, and devours me.
He knows exactly what he’s doing when he buries his face between my legs and eats me like my pussy is his first and last meal. His fingers spread me open, his tongue slides inside, thrusting while the pad of his thumb circles my clit. That same thumb slides inside while he’s sucking and pulling me to the edge of my orgasm.
It crashes over me hard and fast, and I arch off the table as my climax soaks Dylan’s face. He’s got to be drowning—I can feel my release leaking down my cheeks as my core clenches and my entire body bursts into a million pinpoints of hot white light—but he doesn’t let me go. He holds me fast as I brazenly grind on his face, his mouth working to prolong the final waves of my climax.
When they finally subside, I collapse on the table with a hot, heavy groan, eyes drifting shut before they ping open again, staring at the ceiling. Oh my God. I just came on Dylan Davenport’s face.
“Dylan,” I begin. “That was—”
“Fucking fantastic?”
His tone is proud, and when I glance down my body at his head still between my knees, his grin is worse. And it makes me laugh lightly, dropping my head back against the table.
“Better than fantastic,” I agree.
Dylan peppers kisses across my damp thighs before he carefully lifts my heels from the table, letting my legs dangle off the sides, and gets to his feet. I prop myself up on my elbows, but he holds up one finger to stop me from moving any further.
“Stay right there. Don’t move.”
I watch his ass flex as he walks out of the room, feeling all kinds of giddy for all of sixty lonely seconds before I wonder what it is I’m waiting for. Just as I’m thinking about going to look for him, he reappears with a couple of towels. One of themis wet and warm, and he runs it up my leg before I realize what he’s doing.
Reflexively, I sit up and make a grab for the towel. “You don’t have to do that.”
His brow is puzzled, but the curve of his mouth is amused. “I know I don’t have to.” He folds the towel and applies it to my collarbone, gently wiping away all traces of wine. “I want to. So quit being a brat and let me take care of you.”
I glance once at the towel in his hand, then out to the darkness through the glass doors. Anywhere but him. “Nobody’s ever done this before. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”
Dylan pauses until I look him in the eyes again, and what I see there makes my throat catch.
“Do you know how fucking pissed that makes me? Knowing every man in your life so far has been an asshole who never treated you right?”
