His gaze followed my hand. “Keep going,” he said.
I ran my fingers along myself, inside myself. My self-consciousness evaporated when I saw how avidly he watched me, how hypnotized he looked. “Like this,” I whispered, using my fingers to push myself open. “And like this.” I rubbed a slow, sure circle around my clit.
He made a small noise, almost like a sigh, and didn’t move his gaze. He grabbed the back of my knee and pushed it farther, dipping his head so he could get a better view. “And what are you thinking about when you do that?” he asked roughly.
I’d never had a man look at me like that before. I’d never shown so much to a man before—any man. “You,” I said, watching his dark, bent head, the hard lines of his posture. I was starting to get sweet, familiar shocks moving up through my body from where my fingers swirled. “I’m thinking of you.”
“Doing what?”
“You—” I could barely form the words. “Your mouth. On me.”
“That’s nice,” he said softly. He brushed a finger over my entrance, making me flinch with pleasure. “I know exactly how this tastes.”
“It was so good,” I said, half-closing my eyes. Now I had two equally hot images in front of me—Devon right now, watching me, and the image of the Devon two years ago, burned perfectly into my brain, putting his mouth between my legs. It had been good. I let out a breath, dropping my head back a little.
I felt his fingers brush me again, and the touch, mixed with m
y own, was exquisite. “And then what do I do?” he asked.
“You tell me you want me,” I said, reciting the next part of the fantasy without thinking. “You tell me you want to fuck me. That you can’t stand it anymore.”
His fingers pressed harder, touching my entrance as I stroked my clit. “And do I?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Do I fuck you?”
“Yes,” I said. I was arched back now, my eyes closed, every part of me focused on the sensations between my legs, on the fantasy. “You fuck me like you did that night—and—and it’s so good—” He slid two fingers all the way inside me, stretching me, and I lifted my hips off the edge of the bathtub. I couldn’t talk anymore. I just let it happen, his fingers and mine, both of us moving. My body took over, the hot pictures in my memory and in front of my eyes, and I came in slow, rippling waves, panting quietly.
Devon swore, and I heard the splash of the water, and I felt his hands on me, and then I was in his big, wide bed, the sheets cool beneath me. He bent over me and kissed me, long and hard, his rough chest brushing my nipples. When he pulled away, I was wild, even though I’d just come. I hadn’t seen him fully naked, either when we’d had sex or in the bath, but I saw him now. His big body, his knees on either side of my hips, the fine dark hair on his chest I remembered, his lithe hips, his strong legs. And his cock, hard and ready for me. He looked down at me, watching me watch him.
“I thought of you,” he said bluntly. “Every day.”
I was silent, breathing hard, watching him.
He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the top of the headboard, looming over me. His cock traced my stomach. “Like this,” he said. “I thought of you like this. Naked in bed. Begging me. It got me through every fucking day.”
I ran my hands over his stomach, his hips, taking in the feel of him. “You missed me,” I said.
“Two years,” Devon said. He reached down and drew a thumb across my lower lip. “When I got out, all I could think about was this mouth. It nearly made me crazy. I don’t give a fuck about anything, Olivia. Not one thing. But this…” His thumb traced my lip again. “This I give a fuck about.’
I wrapped my fingers around his cock, squeezed him lightly. “Then come here,” I said.
He walked his knees up until his cock traced my chest, then my neck. Then I leaned up and slipped it into my mouth, giving the head a suckling kiss.
“Oh, fuck,” he said.
He tasted just like I remembered. Just as good. I licked him greedily, kissing down the side of his cock, running my tongue over it. His hips flexed and he lowered it into my mouth, slowly and gently, testing me. Once, then again.
I thought he’d keep going until he came, but to my surprise he pulled out and moved back again so he was straddling my hips. “That’s what I would think of,” he said, his voice ragged. “And this is what I’d do.”
He put his hand on his cock, stroked it. Again, again. I went still, as quiet as a mouse in the shadow of a hawk overhead. I couldn’t take my eyes from the picture I was seeing—Devon, stroking himself, hard and rhythmic. It was dirty, incredible, harshly beautiful. My breath stopped in my lungs.
“You like that,” he said after a minute.
“Yes,” I said. I gripped his big, hard thighs, digging my nails in, as I watched. “Keep going.”
“This is what you do to me,” he said, stroking. “Every fucking time.”
“Keep going,” I panted.
He leaned forward again, gripped the headboard with his free hand for balance, and stroked harder. I couldn’t stop watching him. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. “Sweetheart, I’m going to come,” he said.