Page 118 of Rev

“Matter of perspective,” I murmur, and then mouth the head of him again. “I think you are. Good doesn’t mean innocent, or…a saint. It means you seek to do the right thing.”

“Done wrong more than right.”

I laugh, stroking him tip to root. “Welcome to this funny old thing called life, Rev. ‘There is none righteous, no, not one.’”

He grunts again—this one is a laugh. “Did…did you…” he starts over. “Did you just quote theBiblewhile giving me head?”

I laugh again, a self-conscious giggle. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Myka. You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

I grin up at him. “You want me to talk, or use my mouth for other purposes?”

“Weird, but I’m findin’ I like both.” He growls as I take him into my mouth again. “That fuckin’ mouth of yours, woman. So fuckin’ sweet.”

I look at him. “Sweet?” I frown. “I’m not exactly going for sweet at the moment, honey.”

He grins—a full, wild, unfettered grin. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Know you’re not. What makes it sweet. Don’t mean it ain’t hot as fuck. It’s just sweetandhot as fuck.”

“Oh.” I lick my lips, bite my lower lip, gazing up at him. “Is this sweet?”

I then scoot backward a little, angle him away from his body, lean forward, and take him, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, as deep as I can. When he hits the back of my throat, I open, tongue moving, breathing through my nose, eyes closed, and take more. He groans, a long low ragged round of awed rapture, and that’s all the affirmation I need—I keep taking him. I’ve never tried this before, so I don’t really know how much of him I can take.

Turns out, I can take all of him.

“God…fucking…damn, Myka,” he breathes. “Killin’ me. Fuckin’ killin’ me, that beautiful mouth takin’ every last goddamn inch of my cock.”

I feel him throb against my lips, which are around the root of him, his belly against my nose, expanding with each rough breath. I pull away, I have to. Suck in a breath, wipe my lips with my wrist, gazing up at him.

“Was that sweet?” I ask.

He just stares down at me, again unreadable—except the fierce need radiating off him. I think he’s deciding what to do with me: let me finish, or throw me onto the bed and fuck my brains out.

I catch my breath, lazily stroking him. Holding his eyes, a tense détente. And then I decide to up the ante, force his hand. I clutch him and take him in my mouth once more, and now I move. Bob, up and down, quicker and quicker, all tongue and lips and mouth and throat.

He allows this for about thirty seconds, and then I find myself airborne. “You’re done.”

I get no chance to respond—he tosses me onto the bed, the mattress accepting me with a creaky protest. I bounce once, and then he’s on me. His fingers vise into my hips, over my skirt, his lips on my calves, skimming up to my knees, kissing the inside of one knee, the other. His hands are rough, his kisses gentle—it’s a wild, thrilling juxtaposition. He shoves my skirt up around my hips. I cup his scalp, the thick mat of springy curls under my palm, back arching as he kisses up my thighs. When he reaches the soft silk of my inner, upper thighs, he’s no longer just kissing, but nipping, licking. His mouth covers my sex over my underwear—white lace briefs. His hot breath huffs against me, and I’m now not just soaked, but dripping with need.

He tugs at the front of the band of my underwear, but they catch on my hips, my butt. He growls his frustration, moves away, reaches under me and grabs them at the small of my back and jerks them down, almost savagely. I tilt my hip up, kick them off. Instantly, his mouth is on me. Covering my opening, tongue penetrating me. Tasting. Slithering. Driving. Circling.

He pulls away, looking at me, sliding a finger into me. “Get naked.”

I’m gone, already climbing towards ecstasy, and this has me out of it. “Wh-what?” I lift up, look down at him.

“Shirt, bra. Off.Now.”

I arch my back, cross my arms and peel my shirt off. My bra is a matching piece to my panties, white lace—not quite sheer, not as supportive as I normally like. But…sexy, I like to think.

He’s watching me from down the length of my body, just his eyes showing above my pubis, his mouth once more hungrily devouring me, now with two fingers drilling into me, slipping out.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Bra is fuckin’ sexy as shit, babe.” He reaches his other hand to cup a breast over the lace. “But I want it gone. Need those perfect tits.”

I arch again, reaching under my body to unclasp the strap, and then I whip the bra off and fling it across the room—it lands on my desk, knocks over my mug of pens with a loud clatter.

His eyes dance with laughter he doesn’t quite verbalize. “Thought we were bein’ quiet.”

I put my finger to my lips. “Ssssshhhh,” I say, not quite able to stifle laughter, snickering somewhat noisily.