Page 190 of Entangled

Still not taking it easy on her though.

“Show me, beautiful. Show me how the mean doctor has been teasing you.”

Her lids flutter shut.

She starts lifting the skirts again, up and up until I see her thighs, lean from weeks of walking. The soft skin begging for my tongue. Her heavy-lidded eyes open as she lifts the dress higher still, watching my face intently.

Eden’s panties are a soft pink that match the flowers on her dress, with a little bow at the top. They’re wholesome and cute... and her soaking pussy has made a dark, lewd stain on the sweet fabric.

Her hands tremble on her dress as I stare.

And stare and stare.

I sink to my knees in front of her, and her inner thigh twitches. Fuck, I can smell her here. My mouth waters.

“So pretty,” I say hoarsely.

I can’t see a vibrator or any type of wearable. Whatever Beau’s toy is, it must be internal.

Better investigate.

Leaning up, I press my tongue against the stain, and she gasps, flinching. The first taste of her kills my amusement. I thought I remembered how good she tastes, but I was dead wrong. She’s sweet and tangy, and the scent of her fills me.

Not wanting her to move, I grasp her thighs as I lick the damp fabric, grinding her down into my mouth. Eden cries out, and I shudder in response. The dress dips over my head as she loses her grip, but I ignore it, focused on the taste of her on my tongue. I can’t get enough through the fabric.

I need more.

Torn between impatience and wanting to take my time, I roll her panties down fast, lifting her ankles one at a time to get them all the way off, and her hands tuck back her dress so she can lean on my slick shoulders to keep her balance.

Dazed, I look up, remembering how oiled I am when her fingers rub over me.

“It’ll wreck your dress,” I warn.

Eden’s pupils are blown dark and starved. “I don’t care about the dress, Lucky.”

Thank God.

I move my hands up, parting her sweet pussy with my fingers. She’s dripping wet and blushing pink, and I bring my mouth back over her, not wanting to waste any of it. I groan into her as she coats me. She whimpers, but I don’t look up. I’m busy, lost exploring every silky, slippery contour of her with my tongue.

She’s balanced awkwardly over me, and one of her hands moves to my hair for a better grip as she rubs herself against my face. My beard scrapes her thighs, her pussy until I’m covered in her. Marked by her. Her frantic, panting cries spur me on like a whip.

I circle her clit with my tongue, and her hand tightens brutally in my hair.

“More.” Her voice is broken with need.

My stiff cock leaks precum. More, she says.

Short of a safeword, I’m not stopping for anything.

Laying my tongue flat against her clit, I rub and suckle until I get the right rhythm and her cries pick up pace and volume, until her thighs quake under my hands. Her hands clutch at my hair and the pain of it makes my whole body sing.

I run a finger to her tight, hot hole, and breach her entrance. Her inner muscles crush my finger in scorching, satin heat, and I freeze, feeling the resistance.

I think I found her toy.

Swallowing hard, I add a second finger, rubbing and slowly pumping until she falls apart with a raw, shattered cry.

Her knees give out, and I have to move quickly to catch her before she falls. She lets out a strangled sound—half a squeal, half a moan—and clamps her legs together as she comes down on top of me.

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