When he extended his fingers into her hair, angling her head backward so he could lick his way inside, she wrapped her tongue around his to invite him in.
Thank God.
The intensity grew quickly, hijacking his plans to go slow. He slanted his mouth over hers and consumed her hungrily, their tongues fighting for dominance while her body revved against his. Her breasts pushed against his chest. Her hands clutched his hips. Their centers locked together. He rocked against the vee of her thighs, and she moaned, her shudder seeping into him while they devoured each other.
How often had he dreamed of the first time he’d taste her? No matter what happened after this, there could be no going back. He’d always remember when she’d tasted of beer and dark excitement, the kind that pushed people to do very bad things.
Like sweeping his arm out and sending the mug on the table clattering onto the floor. Her favorite mug.
Even so the crash barely registered as he picked her up and set her on the table. His patience had vanished in an instant. He hadn’t expected the way her flavor would punch through his system.
He needed more. All of her, raining down his throat.
“I’m only asking because it’s you. Normally I’d say to hell with it and take my shot,” he said, his voice guttural. “I want in those pants of yours, and I’m going to get there. But only if you say yes first.”
To his surprise, she gave him a small smile and rubbed her palm over her wool-clad thigh. “I’m wearing a dress.”
“Is that a yes?”
She paused just long enough to make him want to drop to his knees and say a loud, fervent prayer. “No.” He still hadn’t recovered from her answer when her smile widened. “That’s a hell yes, please.”
He soon found himself on his knees anyway, close enough to her heat to breathe her in. He translated the confusion on her face as he rolled up her dress, revealing her pale legs. No stockings or garters. Just pure, untouched flesh.
Really untouched.
His mouth went dry, and he glanced up to seek her permission again. This wasn’t some random girl he’d hooked up with in a bar. It also wasn’t Tristan, who not only took what he dished out but served it right back up to him.
This was the girl he’d loved so long, platonically and then otherwise, that he hardly remembered the years before she’d come into his life. It felt like she’d always been there.
Always would be.
Trying to get himself back in line, he kissed the inside of her knee. She touched his hair, reaching down to loosen his ponytail like he’d done with hers. She brushed her fingers over the back of his neck, saying more with that one gesture than she could have with a thousand words.
I want you. I trust you. I love you.
He pulled her closer to the edge of the table and registered her h
eeled boots digging into his ass when she wrapped her legs around him. The wool clung to her skin, but he forced the material out of the way to bare her black and pink panties.
“Polka dots?” he muttered, earning a muffled laugh.
She ran her fingertips over her shoulder. “Matches the bra. Except the bra has cutouts.” Her touch moved to her breasts, narrowing his focus until he groaned and dragged his gaze back to her panties. He reached out to stroke the satin panel between her thighs, closing his eyes at her surprised moan.
Wet. So damn wet.
“I’ve wanted to eat your pussy since you wore that bikini to Tristan’s house party senior year.” He felt her stiffen, but he didn’t stop. If he could put his mouth on it, he could damn well use the word as something other than a curse. “The blue one with the white hearts all over. You were on the couch, spread out asleep after swimming all day, and I saw a little of this.” He tugged on a wispy blonde curl that escaped the confines of her panties. “It made me want to see the rest. To put my tongue right here,” he demonstrated, flattening his tongue against her clit through the fabric, “and make you moan like you are right now.”
Cait’s legs tightened around his back, and her thighs opened farther. “God, I’m so embarrassed. So much for a neat bikini line.”
He stroked the wet curl, then licked it, pulling lightly. She bolted upward as if he’d prodded her with a fiery poker. “I’d figured you’d be shaving now.”
“Waxing,” she corrected, laughing before another lick and press stole her breath.
“Whatever. Mmm, I can taste you even through the fabric. You like having a guy’s tongue here, don’t you?”
“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.” Her voice had lowered to match his.
He grinned and nipped her soft inner thigh. She whimpered just as he’d wanted. Then he went to work with his fingers, sliding them up and down so that the material soon became saturated with her juices. He yanked her as close as he could get her and buried his face between her thighs, inhaling her with every stab of his tongue against her eager, swollen clit. She pulled on his hair—even harder than Tristan, for God’s sake—and rubbed against his mouth, grinding hard, shameless in her pursuit of her orgasm.