Page 87 of Relationship Goals

I blink at him, flummoxed. I’m naked in his bed, his cock in my hand, and he’s gotten to the heart of the matter, ofme, with that very statement.

“We can stop. If you aren’t comfortable with anything else, we can stop right now.”

“Luke.” A sigh erupts from me. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

My eyes squeeze shut, and that pesky, awful feeling of being on display, of vulnerability, rears its ugly head. Much uglier than the one I have my fingers on.

“It was that fuckhole you dated before, wasn’t it?”

I open one eye, amused in spite of myself. “Fuckhole?”

“What did he say to you?”

“I don’t want it to be bad for you,” I whisper.

“Abigail.” He sits up, his big hand cupping my face. “You are literally a fucking wet dream come to life. Every time you touch me, I—” He goes quiet, looking away from my face, then back, utterly sincere. “I knew I wouldn’t last five seconds inside you earlier. That’s how attracted to you I am.” He gently strokes his thumb across my bottom lip. “There is literally nothing you could do wrong.”

“Unless I bite it.”

“Please don’t bite it. That’s a cause for anaphylactic shock, or whatever.” He doesn’t look away from me, and I loose a relieved laugh.

“Soanaphylactic shockis the safe word, then?”

“Are you using it?”

“No, definitely not.”

“I think safe words are typically for, uh, slightly more wild encounters in the bedroom, by the way.”

I open my eyes wide. “Like with tigers?”

His laugh erupts out of him, and it makes my chest clench with affection so sharp that I pull his face to mine, kissing him as hard as I can, trying to show him how much he means to me already. I’m afraid of it.

Scared.

Nervous.

But ready. So ready, needing this, needinghim—and desperately wanting another non-vibrator orgasm.

I push him to the bed gently. His teeth graze my lower lip, and I start to move down his body again, worshipping every inch of fabulous muscle. I pay special attention to his tattoo, and when he grunts at me, I laugh softly into it.

“Want you,” he manages. “Abigail, let me make you come again.”

“Who am I to pass up that offer?” I ask sweetly. “You don’t want a blow job?”

I squeal in surprise as he pulls at my hips, shocked at how strong and gentle he is all at once.

“I want both,” he rasps out. “Sit on my face.”

I start to object, until his mouth meets the apex of my thighs once more, and I go loose and tight and needy all over again. I work him with my hand, then as best I can with my mouth, considering our height difference—loving the feeling of control I have in this position, loving the way I can feel how close he’s getting.

When he slides two fingers inside me, still working me with his tongue, I rear back.

“Fuck,” I cry out.

He speeds up, working me hard, and I climb toward my peak, sweat breaking out all over me until I break again, coming harder than before.