Page 113 of Double Down

Her pussy glistens, and my mouth waters.

She watches me from under heavy lids, certain I’ll kneel and worship.

She’s wrong. I drag my tongue up the seam of her, teasing, barely splitting her lips, tasting. My hands clamp her waist as I lick again, deeper.

She moans, eyes fluttering shut.

I set my stance, thighs tight, power loaded like I’m about to pull a deadlift. As she softens under my mouth, I lock on to her waist and lift, rolling her thighs more securely onto my shoulders as I stand and lift us both away from the bed.

Her startled scream cracks the air as I hold her against her to the wall. One of her hands fists the hair at my back of my neck, the other flattens against the ceiling above her.

Then I devour her, tongue fucking her while my nose rubs the tight bead of her clit. Her heels dig into my back. She curses me.

It’s messy, feral, perfect.

Her thighs start to tremble almost immediately, spurring me on.

I don’t stop at the first orgasm. Or the second.

By the third, her fingers are at war in my hair, not sure whether to hold me closer or force me away. I make the choice for her. I free one hand from her waist, slide it to her ass, and sink two fingers into her soaked heat—drawing slick before circling her pretty, pleated hole.

“Maverick,” she pants. Noyes. Nono. Just a broken cry as pleasure swallows her again. I take her gasp and push my first finger into her tight ass. She clenches, moans, rocks against my face for more.

My greedy little Firebird.

She tries to push me off, but I like the sting in my scalp. One finger works her ass as my tongue lashes her clit. I don’t think one orgasm even ends before the next hits. I add a second finger, spread them, stretch her open while I flatten my tongue and let her use it.

She can’t blame me when she’s the one riding my mouth.

“God, Maverick,” she screams. The others can hear my name on her lips, and I haven’t even given her my cock yet.

With her pinned to the wall, both palms to the ceiling, I lift her higher. I catch the fire in her eyes as she watches me take her apart.

I lose count. My face is drenched. Her release coats my chin. Her legs go lax and her whole body trembles at the tiniest brush of my tongue.

There’s power here—one flick of my tongue, and she jolts like I’ve wired her to lightning. Not every man can do that to a woman. Not every woman can take it.

Carefully, I peel her from the wall and carry her back to the bed. I use my shirt to wipe my face and fingers.

She lies loose-limbed, watching, waiting to see what I do next.

“You okay, Phoenix?”

She shakes her head, sits up. “I need more. Need you.”

I shove my pants down and step free. My cock is so hard it hurts.

She doesn’t look away as I stroke myself, slow and deliberate, letting an echo of my own need ripple across her face.

I drag the wooden desk chair closer to the bed and sit, wood creaking under my weight. It’s the chair I throw shirts on, the one that never mattered—until now. I spread my knees and hold out a hand.

“Come here, Firebird.”

She studies me like she’s weighing whether I’ve earned the right to ask. I don’t look away. “I’m sorry,” I say, the words rough and plain. “For the door, for the drink, for letting someone touch me when all I wanted was you.” My palm stays open. “Let me make this right.”

She steps between my legs. Her fingers skim my jaw, not gentle, not forgiving—just real. “Show me.”

I guide her with my hands at her hips, turning her so her back rests against my chest. “Slow,” I murmur against her temple. “Your pace. Your say.” She nods, breath catching, and I help her lower, inch by inch, until I’m seated deep inside her. We both exhale like we’ve been holding it since the moment the elevator opened.