His hands squeeze my breasts, graze the sides of my abdomen, then land on the button of my shorts.
And then he freezes.
I lift my head and glance down my midline. I lock eyes with him as he watches me, studies me, questions me. As he silently asks for permission. As he waits for consent.
“Micah?”
“Yes, hellcat,” he purrs, his breath hot on my skin.
“Take my clothes off.”
He cocks a brow and tilts his head. “Anything else?”
I love and loathe how he wants me to say the words aloud. I am not a shy lover, but Micah and I haven’t traveled this road yet. And I get his need to hear me verbalize what I want.
Sitting up—which causes him to do the same—I come face-to-face with him. Inches separate our lips. My bare breasts a breath from brushing his cotton shirt. I hold his gaze. Read the carnality in his eyes. It adds fuel to the roaring fire beneath my skin. Possesses me. Makes me ravenous.
Without moving my hands, I lean forward, bite his lower lip then growl as I release it. A breath between us, I whisper-hiss, “Fuck me.”
Unexpectedly, his eyes widen a beat. A growl rips from his chest and spills from his lips. Then his hand wraps around my throat and constricts as he shoves me back to the mattress. My oxygen is cut off enough to make me dizzy, but not knock me out and I roll my eyes before closing them.
The button on my shorts pops open seconds before he bites the fabric and separates the zipper teeth. Cool air stings my lungs when he removes his hand from my throat. The mattress shifts before his hands scoop my ass cheeks and he shimmies my shorts and panties down my thighs.
Completely bare on his comforter, he stands at the foot of the bed, palms his cock, and licks his lower lip. My hands itch to reach down, not to cover myself, but to touch myself too. But I resist the urge and let him visually devour me.
Micah traces his fingers up my shins, then slides them back down to my ankles, takes hold and yanks my ass to the edge of the bed before dropping to his knees. He hooks my left leg over his shoulder, followed by my right. Lips press to the inside of my thigh. Teeth nip their way up, up, up my thigh, tongue tasting me along the way.
When he reaches the apex of my thighs, he licks everywhere but where I want him. Teases me with slight touches. Tortures me with occasional bites. Makes me moan as he marks my flesh on the upper part of my inner thigh.
Then he licks my lips, bottom to clit, and hums his appreciation. “Fuck, I love how sweet you taste.” Before rational thought forms from his words, his mouth is on me. Lapping and sucking, tasting and devouring. He adds a finger, rubs that sweet spot inside me. Flicks his tongue over my clit again and again before inserting a second finger.
I fist the comforter as my back bows off the mattress. Thighs clamp the angle of his jaw. Ankles hook behind his head and force him into me as I rock against his mouth. Against the scrape of his stubble. Against the perfect strokes of his tongue and drive of his fingers.
Heat builds between my legs, curls up my spine, blooms across my chest, up my neck, over my cheeks. Consumes me in every possible way as Micah picks up speed. Curls his digits and pumps faster. Sucks my clit between his lips and performs voodoo on my body.
In the past, I had never been a vocal lover. Never moaned or screamed or cried out a name in pleasure. But with Micah, I whimper. Mewl for more. Beg him not to stop. Moan his name like it pains me not to.
He makes me wanton. Carnal. Hungry for only him.
And the way he looks at me now—eager to consume every part of me—sets me off. Has me fisting the comforter and cursing at the ceiling. Tremors rock me head to toe. Blind me in the darkness. Steal my breath and stall my heart.
“So fucking sweet,” he says on a moan as he licks the orgasm from my skin.
As the shaking settles, I shift to my hands and knees. Crawl to where he stands at the foot of the bed, shorts tented by his erection. He grins down at me lasciviously.
“Whatcha going to do, hellcat?” He cups my cheek and tips my chin up so we are eye to eye.
I lick my lips, rock back on my haunches, and reach out to drag him closer. Still fully dressed, I slip my hands under his shirt, force it up and off him. Before the cotton hits the floor, my fingers unbutton his shorts, then slide down the zipper. A low thump sounds in the room as his shorts drop to the floor.
Eyes locked on his, I lean forward and drag my tongue from his navel to his nipple. “Taking what’s mine,” I state.
“Fuck,” he whisper-hisses. He fists my throat, locks me in place, and crashes his lips to mine.
But it is my turn.
I slide a hand up his abdomen, over his pec, and land on his throat. When my fingers tighten, as my nails bite his skin, he releases my neck. Moans in my mouth.
I crawl backward on the mattress and he follows. He plants his knees on the mattress and I shift our positions. Drop my hand to his chest, shove him down and straddle him. Grinding myself against him and soak his boxer briefs.
His eyes roll back briefly as he grips my hips. “Confession.”
I wiggle my way down his body and reach for the band of his boxer briefs. “This isn’t church, Micah. But feel free to worship me.”
I yank his briefs down and off, then toss them aside. I rake my gaze over him and stop when I reach his cock. Sweet fucking Jesus. The size makes me stutter mentally, but that isn’t what has me praying for mercy. No, what makes me swallow and crawl closer are the three barbells.