Page 91 of Fire and Silk

My hands curl against the stone edge behind me. My thighs try to close, but he’s holding me open, watching me squirm with his fingers inside me.

I try to breathe.

I can’t.

He curls his finger just right—just there—and my moan breaks into a helpless sob. I throw my head back farther, hair dripping, mouth open to the sky.

But he pulls me forward.

One hand grips my lower back, dragging me toward him, and his mouth moves to the center of my chest. My bikini bra clings to wet skin. He flicks the clasp open with one hand.

It falls away.

And then he takes my breast in his mouth.

His tongue circles my nipple before he sucks it hard into his mouth, biting down just enough to make me whimper. His fingers never stop moving inside me. He fucks me with them, steady and deep, while his lips devour my breast.

He groans against my skin, his stubble scraping the underside of my breast as he kisses lower, then back up again to suck harder, hungrier, like he’s starving.

And through all of it, he never looks away.

His eyes stay locked on mine—dark, devouring—while his fingers curl deep inside me. Each thrust pushes against that aching spot that makes my thighs tremble, makes my moans hitch into breathless whimpers.

Then he stops.

He slides his fingers out—slow, savoring the way I clench around nothing—and holds them up between us.

My arousal catches the light, a glossy sheen over his skin. He watches me watch him, and then he parts his lips and sucks one finger into his mouth.

His tongue swirls.

Then the next finger.

And Iwhimper, throat tightening, breath stalling completely as I watch his mouth close around the slick digits and clean them like he’s savoring every drop I left on him.

I can’t take my eyes off him.

The air feels thick between us—water clinging to my skin, heat building under it, and the way he looks at me like he owns my body, my sounds, the quiver in my thighs.

He doesn’t speak.

He just lowers his head.

His lips graze the inside of my thigh, right where the muscle pulses wildly from where I’ve been fucked open and left aching. His tongue flicks , and my legs jerk. I brace myself against the edge of the pool, arms shaking.

He kisses there again—then lower.

Down my thigh, to my knee.

Down farther, toward my calf.

He lifts my right leg fully out of the water. He cradles my ankle in his hand, lifting it with reverence as if I’m something holy. The water beads on my skin and drips into the pool below.

Then he kisses the top of my foot.

His eyes flick back to mine—still watching—still hungry—and then I feel it:

His mouth wraps around my big toe.