Good God. He didn’t even bother taking them off.
He swiped his tongue along the crease where my thigh and pelvis met. He hummed out a little groan and did it again. I squirmed because I wasn’t exactly prepared for guests down there.
“Ian…”
He peered up at me, his tongue already tracing over the shockingly swollen state of affairs I had going on. “Busy. Talk later.”
I hissed out a laugh. “I could take a shower first.”
“Nope.” He dug his fingers into my ass. “I’m going to swallow you down like that gelato stuff I’ve had on your boardwalk.” He licked his way up my slit and my elbow gave out on me. “Zings on the tongue. I’ve never tasted anything like you.”
“Liar.”
His smirk was back. I couldn’t stop watching as he slowly filled me with his tongue. Testing out what I liked, turning to go deeper, then lighter depending on the noises I made.
I wanted to keep quiet.
To pretend he didn’t affect me.
But it was a lie.
Just having his wide shoulders holding me open was enough to push me way too close to the edge. Then again, I’d been dreaming of him for so long, he could probably blow on me and I’d go over like a virgin.
Fuck.
We were cramped on my couch. It wasn’t the cushy kind that invited someone to stay forever. It was long and skinny to allow the maximum space for my studio. But it was also sturdy as hell.
His other hand came up to gently press my thighs open even wider. Those long, elegant fingers were impossibly talented. The little nicks and scars from his guitar and a lifetime of hardship created the perfect topographical match to my softer skin.
But it was the swirl of his thumb at the top of my pussy that was his first victory. I couldn’t hold out against his tongue and fingers. Especially when they worked in tandem. Thank God, he’d shut his eyes to…concentrate?
Whatever you wanted to call it.
Count.
Do the alphabet and times tables in his head.
I didn’t fucking care.
I gripped the couch cushion as I arched up to meet each lash of his tongue. Then he opened his eyes again and I was gone.
I didn’t even realize I’d shoved him to the floor.
He knelt on the floor, then dragged me off the arm of the couch to the cushioned seat and spread me wide open. If I’d had any brain cells left, I might have been embarrassed about how every part of me shook and arched up to greet his mouth and fingers.
I screamed his name and tried desperately to stay coherent enough to consume every detail. If this would be the one and only time I’d have this experience, I was going to drown in it.
My thighs shook.
My brain seized.
I couldn’t breathe around the pleasure.
“Ian! God, I can’t.”
He slipped two fingers inside me with a groan as I clamped down on him. I needed more than that. So much more.
I didn’t even realize I’d transferred my grip from the couch to his hair. Silky and thick, the curls twisted around my wrist. Pain shone in his furrowed brow and the pinch around his eyes. I gentled my hold.