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“Cold?” He kisses my inner thigh.
“No.” My voice catches as his breath ghosts over my center. “Just… nervous.”
“Don’t be.” His fingers trace patterns on my skin. “I’ve got you.”
Those words again. Simple but powerful. They sink into my bones, melting away years of walls and defenses.
“Look at me.”
I meet his intense gaze. His pupils are blown wide with desire, but there’s something else there too. Something that makes my heart stutter.
“You’re so fucking wet.” His thumb brushes over my clit. “Is this all for me?”
I can only nod, my hips seeking more of his touch.
When his tongue makes contact, my back arches off the bed and his hands grip my legs, holding me steady.
“Every Thursday dinner, watching you pick at your salad.” His tongue flicks out, teasing. “And all I could think about was having you spread out like this. Picking at you.”
My fingers twist in the sheets, stupid silk sheets, as he licks a long stripe up my center. A moan tears from my throat.
“You taste just as I remember.” One of his hands slides up my body to my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. “The sweetest sin.”
All I can do is feel his mouth on me, his hand on my breast, the other keeping me spread open for him, and the pleasure that builds and builds like a tidal wave threatening to crash over me.
“Brandon…”
“What do you need?” He hums against me. “My fingers?” A single digit sinks into me, curling just right, and stars erupt behind my eyelids. “My mouth?” He sucks on my clit, and I keen, high and fervent. “My cock?”
Yes, god yes, all of it, any of it, just please…
But I can’t form the words, can’t do anything but writhe beneath him.
“Beg for it,” he says.
“Fuck you.”
He tsks, his thumb circling my clit in maddeningly slow strokes. “That’s not very nice. I thought you wanted to come.”
“Brandon.” I try to make my voice stern, but it comes out breathy. “Stop teasing.”
“But you’re so pretty when you’re desperate.” He punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust of his fingers. “All flushed and panting and begging for my cock.”
The dirty talk shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. But I can feel myself getting wetter, my walls fluttering around. And he can, too.
“Come on, cupcake.” His fingers hit a spot that makes my vision blur. “One word.”
“Please,” I gasp. “I want you inside me.”
“Inside you?” He withdraws his fingers, standing up. “Mhm. Will you beg a bit more for me?”
I can’t help but stare as Brandon’s hands move to his belt, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss. My heart pounds against my ribs, breath catching as he unbuttons his jeans.
They hit the floor, and holy fuck. The sight of him in just black boxer briefs, the obvious bulge straining against the fabric, makes my mouth go dry.
“Like what you see?” He hooks his thumbs in the waistband, teasing.
My voice comes out hoarse. “You already asked that.”