Page 78 of Worshiping Faith

She pulls me toward it, her eyes flashing, a silent this will do.

Fuck, I love her like this.

But no.

Not like this.

Not rushed.

“You’re not laying on that,” I murmur against her lips. “It’s cold and hard.”

She grabs me through my jeans. “So are you.”

I groan, swear I see stars for a second.

“Not the point,” I grit out, gripping her waist, dragging her back against me.

“I want you,” she breathes.

Fuck.

Her fingers slide lower, and I swear I almost lose it right there. She starts to drop to her knees, like she’s got the same wicked ideas I do.

I stop her.

Not like this. Not here.

I drop to my knees, hands on her hips, undoing her pants, peeling them off slow, because fuck, she needs to feel how much I want this.

Want her.

Her thighs are soft, her skin hot, and she’s already soaked.

I groan, pressing my lips to the inside of her thigh, just to feel her shiver.

Her fingers tighten on my shoulders.

She knows what’s coming.

“Stay on your feet,” I rasp, sliding my hands up the backs of her thighs, gripping her ass, holding her exactly where I want her. “I said I wanted you to scream my name.”

Then I bury myself between her legs.

Her fingers tighten on my shoulders. Her knees wobble.

I hum against her, loving the way she tenses, melts, shakes all at once.

She tastes like sin, like salvation, like mine, and I take my time, devouring her, kissing and sucking at her clit until she’s panting, gasping, trying to hold herself up but failing.

I feel the moment her thighs start to tremble.

Not enough.

I slide a hand down, teasing her, filling her, curling my fingers just right.

She sobs my name.

That’s one.