Page 107 of Cara

She playfully swats my chest, snatches the photo from my hand, and tosses it aside before climbing onto my lap.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she gazes down at me, her eyes sparkling with intoxication.

“I think we need a do-over.”

Music to myfuckingears.

My smile spreads as she greedily nuzzles her mouth against mine, her hands already slipping under my sweater, deliciously cool against my flushed skin. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

I nod, uncertain if I’m lightheaded from her emboldened fingers or the excessive amount of liquor in my system. While I usually initiate most of the affection between us, tonight, she is the one pushing the fabric of my sweater over my abdomen, leaving traces of her lips on my skin.

Years of deprivation. Years of wanting to tear my own skin off rather than confront that I’d never have this again.

Years of lying in an empty bed, finding fleeting pleasure in what memories I had left of her that weren’t bloody scars, my hand spurring a release that would reawaken the ache rather than dull it.

Her mouth sweeps across my chest with a blaze of passion while her hands ease the cashmere up until it’s over my head. Basking in her unusual fierceness, I yield to her, just watching her work over me, anticipating her next decision. Her lips glide down my body to the dark hair at the base of my stomach, her fingers unfastening the button of my slacks.

Sophie guides the material past my legs until I’m laid bare beside her, watching her eyes absorb every unconcealed inch, desire flushing her features. I lay back, arm propping my head to watch her hand roam freely. It takes every ounce of control I have to remain still, to give her time when I think I’ll go insane if I don’t get her underneath me.

Her fingers are delicate as they trace along my ribs, gliding over the contours of my stomach, reaching the dip of my hip. They explore the strong curve of my throat, lingering on mychest hair. She’s stretched time so beyond what I can handle that when her hand nudges my cock before gripping it, her thumb glides through thick moisture that’s seeped from the wide crown in my restraint.

I’m goddamn rigid when she slips to my side, draping her leg over mine as she establishes a steady rhythm over the stiffness before relaxing her grip, smiling when I suck in a breath, completely unwound. She doesn’t flinch when my hand fists in her hair, holding her against my face, just within reach.

Her nod comes with a shiver, rough and desperate, as she watches me come apart right in front of her. She’s ready for it when my mouth bruises hers, unable to control myself.

“Sophie,” I groan, desperate for more.

“Not yet,” she breathes against me, catching me off guard.

That’s goddamn impossible.

It’s then that she retraces her path along my body, kissing, biting, and nuzzling until I realize where she’s going, but I still can't anticipate when her mouth closes over my cock.

My eyes squeeze shut, a brutal sound escaping my lips.

Every time she hollows her cheeks, I’m breathing out ravings that match a harsh rumble, too much pleasure rippling through my body to stay sane.

Cavolo, è da togliere il fiato.

Beautiful. Too damn beautiful.

Raking my hair back, I lean on my elbows to fully observe how she glides the tip of her tongue along the underside, so light I can only feel her breath against my skin as her hands grip the base, twisting just as her mouth draws in the swollen crown.

Her hair tumbles over my abdomen, brushing against my thighs. Refusing to miss a moment of this, my fingers push the tresses aside, wanting—needing—to see her lips divide.

Each time her eyes rise, intensely dilated, I'm so goddamn close, holding off to only keep this going. To keep myhands buried in her hair, guiding her onto me, hearing her moan when she feels the way my body responds to her love.

My legs shudder.

My chest constricts, struggling to find air.

My praises are strained, reminding her that this is all I have fucking dreamed of for four years—no—all of my goddamn life.

She wraps her fingers around my cock, encasing it in the warmth of her grip, her strokes smooth and deliberate.

She isn’t going to stop.