Page 143 of The Neighbor Wager

My toes curl.

I push myself closer and closer with every stroke.

He stays there, hands wrapped around my thighs, attention on me. His breath fills the space. His fingers brush my skin. His eyes stay on me.

Even though I’m not looking, I can feel it.

But I need to see it, too. I blink my eyes open and look at him.

The intensity in his dark eyes undoes me.

With the next stroke of my finger, I go over the edge. My sex pulses as I come. It’s all fast, too fast, but I don’t want to stop, either. Pleasure spills through my pelvis, down my thighs, all the way to my toes.

My body shudders with release.

I collapse with aftershocks.

Then, he’s there, his lips against my inner thigh. Then higher and higher.

The soft brush of his mouth.

Again.

Again.

Then his flat, wet tongue.

Too much and not enough.

He doesn’t tease me here. He works me with steady strokes, pinning my legs into the bed as he tastes me.

The pressure inside me winds quickly. Tighter and tighter, until it’s too much to take. Then he scrapes his nails against my thigh, and he pushes me into the bed, just a little harder, and I come from the force of it.

My sex pulses against his mouth as I buck my hips, taking more, taking every bit of him I can get.

He works me through my orgasm, then he pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

There’s something sexy about the gesture. Impossibly sexy.

River stands.

I sit up enough to push his boxers off his hips. He looks so good here, in the light of day, in my room.

Naked in my room.

And completely rapt.

All of his attention is on me. And all of mine is on him.

I’m not sure which of us is in control anymore and, for once, I don’t care. I don’t want to stop and examine the situation. I want to feel him come.

I wrap my hand around him. I pump him with steady strokes, then I scoot back to the edge of the bed, and I lower myself onto the ground, onto my knees.

He groans as I take him into my mouth. Slowly, at first, so I can taste every inch of him.

Then I pull back and take him again. It’s almost too much. I’m out of practice. And, really, I’ve never understood the fuss. With most guys, it’s too much work, and it’s thankless, too.

But right now, I understand all of it. I feel every ounce of it. I need to take him, drive him out of his mind, consume him the way he consumed me.

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