Page 23 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

She pulls her fingers out of my mouth, wet with my saliva.

In another world, I might be grossed out by the sight of my spit practically dripping from her hand.

But in this world, Rose uses her other hand to tug her underwear to the side and I finally get my eyes on her perfect pussy.

I watch, transfixed, as she parts her lips and circles her entrance with her fingers—fingers coated in me .

And when she presses them inside herself, and her body falls back against the picnic table, I can’t stop myself from leaning closer.

I don’t touch, as tempted as I am, just stare with my mouth open like I’ve never seen something as hot as the sight of her fucking herself with her fingers. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’ll never see something this hot again.

“You can touch,” she says, her voice curling around me like scalding smoke .

“Where? How? Tell me how you want me. Tell me what to do.” She wants control, and I’ll hand over the reins any day of the week if it means I get to touch her. Reel it in , I remind myself. You’re into sex, not Rose.

Rose leans down and places a finger under my chin, tilting my head up to look at her.

“So eager to please me,” she murmurs, her eyes twinkling.

“I could get used to this.” She brushes her thumb across my lip, then presses it into my mouth.

My lips close around it automatically, obliging a command she didn’t even have to give.

“Put your mouth on me,” she says, leaning back and spreading her legs again. “Make your wife come before anyone comes by and catches us.”

I whimper at the reminder that we’re out here where anyone could see.

This isn’t like me. I’m strictly a behind-closed-doors kind of girl.

But I’m not usually the kind of girl who wears a collar, or fucks the roommate she hates, or gets drunkenly married in Vegas.

Who said you can’t evolve in your thirties?

My heart is trying to burst out of my rib cage as I shift closer to Rose and run my hands up her legs.

I look up, her hair falling back, glimmering golden, the sun-streaked foliage casting soft shadows across her skin.

For someone who hates the outdoors, she sure does look heavenly out here.

She tastes heavenly too, and I’m so fucking ready for more.

I take a deep breath and dip my head between her legs. Rose sinks her fingers into my hair, and I peer up at her. She’s watching me, her chest rising and falling.

“I want you to make me. Please, honey.” The nickname slips out, less sarcastic than it usually is. And I just know she’s going to give me shit for it later, but for now…

Rose’s eyes flare, and her grip on my hair tightens. She clasps my face with her other hand, her touch gentle, almost ticklish for a split second, until she releases me and presses my face against her.

I run my tongue over her and groan. Gorgeous .

Maybe she has the right to act like a stuck up asshole ninety-nine percent of the time, considering she tastes so fucking good.

I swirl my tongue over her before closing my lips around her clit, and Rose moans, wrapping her legs around me and pulling me closer to her.

Every breath is a struggle, but I don’t care, because Rose is shaking and whimpering and grinding against my face, and it’s bliss.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” she cries, her free hand slamming down on the wood. “You’re doing so good, so fucking good, I— oh .” I graze her clit lightly with my teeth, and she melts.

In my experience, most people tense when they come.

They clench their fists, tighten their legs, every muscle tensing so much it might snap.

But not Rose. Perhaps it’s because she’s so damn tense the rest of the time, but she softens.

Her hand falls away from my hair, her legs part, slipping down my back, and her body loosens.

It’s like she’s boneless, floating on a wave and riding it out.

I pull her through it, licking and sucking and devouring every last drop of her I can get until I feel her hand smoothing over my hair. Sitting back on my knees, I let my gaze rake over her. Her body is limp, her skin flushed pink.

“Thank you,” I say, whispering without meaning to. Without the sounds of her breathy cries, the rustling leaves and fluttering wings of the birds flying around the forest feel too loud, too close.

Rose chuckles, her voice hoarse. “ Thank you? Shit, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You could take me home and fuck me,” I suggest boldly, and Rose just shakes her head, a sleepy smile on her face.

We’re quiet for a moment—Rose with her neck extended, her eyes closed, facing the sun, and me on my knees, like she’s a goddamn altar. Finally, she clears her throat and sits up, grabbing her phone from the picnic table.

She squints at it and sighs. “Do you have service?”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and nod. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because we should probably let the others know that we’re leaving before I take you home and fuck you, don’t you think?”