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My name on her lips is a prayer and a curse, and it pulls something fierce and tender from deep inside me.

I kiss her thigh, right where my teeth left a mark—my mark. The imprint blooms against her pale skin, and I press my lips to it with something like reverence, soothing the ache I caused. Tasting it. Tastingher.

But gods, I want more. I want to know how she tasteseverywhere.

I push her skirts higher, and she parts her legs without hesitation. My breath catches. Her trust in me—still so new, still so raw—it undoes me more than anything else.

I let my mouth wander the soft skin of her inner thigh. She trembles, a shiver running through her, and her hand tightens in my hair, guiding me, her skirts falling higher.

She’s wearing the thinnest scrap of fabric I’ve ever seen. It clings to her, soaked through, the only thing standing between me and her heat. Between me andeverything.

“Fuck,” I murmur, the word catching low in my throat.

My nose brushes the dampness, and I inhale—slow, greedy,needing.Her scent is warm and sweet and dizzying, and I exhale against her center, breathing her in like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Roan, what are you—”

Her voice stumbles into a tremble as I kiss her through the thin fabric. Once. Twice. Then harder.

I can’t stop. The little taste I get isn’t enough.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Mouse?” I murmur, my lips brushing against the wet cotton, my voice thick with hunger. “I’m getting my taste.”

I pull back just enough to look up at her from between her thighs.

And gods.

Her cheeks are flushed the prettiest shade of pink, lips parted, her chest rising and falling in shallow, shaky breaths. But it’s hereyes—wide and dark and locked on me—that nearly level me.

“You’re beautiful, Aria,” I say, the words falling out before I can soften them.

There’s a weight to them, something fierce and real that settles right behind my ribs. My heart pounds loud enough I swear she must hear it.

I want to see her come apart. I want to be the reason.

I curl my fingers around the waistband of her panties. “Let me make you feel good, Mouse,” I whisper, my voice hoarse now. “...Please.”

There’s a beat—her eyes search mine, something unspoken passing between us—and then she nods.

A smirk curls on my lips, sharp and hungry.

I slip the panties off slowly, savoring every inch of revealed skin. When they fall away, she shifts, legs closing slightly, as if instinctively trying to hide herself.

No. Not from me.

I press her thighs open again, gently, firmly. And what I find makes my breath catch.

She’s glistening. Wet. Wanting.

There’s a small patch of dark brown hair, surprisingly short. Unexpected, perfect.SoAria.

I lean in, pressing my mouth to her cunt like it’s something sacred. Her slick heat coats my tongue as I slowly trace her slit, teasing her folds open. Every lick is a prayer. Every gasp she gives me, a reward.

Her clit peeks out, swollen and needy, and when I circle it with my tongue—light, slow—she gasps, her fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

“That’s a good girl,” I rasp, breathless against her.

Gods, I want to touch myself, but I don’t. Not yet. Not until she falls apart for me.