Page 19 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

My hips buck when his tongue finally touches me, hot, wet, and slow. He doesn’t go for my clit right away. He licks along the seam of me, slow and deep, tasting me like a man savoring the first bite of something forbidden.

When I tangle my fingers in his hair and moan, he groans right back, the sound pure filth against me.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs between strokes. “Sing f’me, cher . Let the whole damn mountain know how good I treat you.”

He flattens his tongue and drags it over me again, and again, until I’m gasping, grinding down on his mouth with no shame. He wraps his arms under my thighs, locking me in place, and devours me like he means to commit it to memory.

“Mmm, bon Dieu , you taste like sugar and sin,” he groans against me.

Then his mouth wraps around my clit, gentle at first, then tighter, before his tongue flicks in lazy, practiced circles.

“You’re so damn sweet,” he breathes. “I could spend all day here, make you come till you cry, and still beg f’more. ”

My thighs tremble around his shoulders. “Fuck, Gilden?—”

“Keep sayin’ my name like that,” he growls, slipping two fingers inside me while he sucks, “and I’ll make sure you don’t say nothin’ else for an hour.”

I come hard the first time, shaking around his mouth, my hips jerking against his face. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even pause.

He licks me through it, groaning against me like my pleasure feeds something inside him. When I try to push him away because I’m too sensitive, he just looks up at me with that wicked gleam and says, “No, no, cher . You stay right there. I ain’t finishing sayin’ grace.”

I can’t breathe, not even if I wanted to. Not when Gilden is dragging me over the edge again with his mouth locked around my clit and his fingers deep inside me, curling just right.

My thighs shake. My hands clutch his hair like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth. But Gilden doesn’t ease up. Not once.

“You keep comin’ for me like that,” he says, voice thick between my legs, “and I swear, cher , I’m gon’ lose my goddamn mind.”

I come again, sharper this time, my whole body jolting as I throw my head back and gasp his name like it’s the only name that’s ever mattered.

And still—still—he didn’t stop. He kisses me through it, mouthing against my suddenly soaked skin, praising me in his language so soft and reverent, it almost sounds like a prayer.

“ Mignonne . . . regarde-toi . Look at you, ma chére . All that sass, all that fire, brought to your knees by my tongue.”

I’m spent, slick and sensitive and trembling. But when he finally pulls back, lips swollen and glistening, I open my eyes and grin.

“You proud of yourself?” I rasp, breathless.

He chuckles, the sound wicked, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d hang a goddamn medal on my tongue if I could.”

I slide off the stump before he can blink, dropping to my own knees in the pine needles. The look in my eyes has him going still for once.

“Your turn, cher ,” I goad.

His breath catches when I palm him through his jeans.

“Aw, fuck,” he whispers, his head tipping back.

He doesn’t stop me as I undo his fly with teasing fingers, before dragging his jeans down just enough to free him. I lick my lips at the sight of him, hungry.

“You said I had a mouth on me,” I murmur, eyes gleaming up at him as I guide him up and then back down onto the stump. “Let me show you what I really do with it.”

Then I take him into my mouth, and Gilden damn near collapses.

“ Merde, cher . . . that’s it. That’s. . . Christ,” he groans, one hand gripping the stump, the other burying in my hair. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

I hum around him, sucking deeper, my lips tight as my tongue teases under the head of his cock. He shudders, his whole body jerking toward me. His thighs tremble.

“You gon’ make me embarrass myself if you keep that up, cher ,” he says, his voice cracking.

But I don’t stop. I hollow my cheeks and moan around him, working him in rhythm, reveling in the way he swears in Cajun French and begs like a man on fire. Just when he’s about to lose it, I pull off him with a wet pop and meet his eyes. I flash him a smirk, my face flushed.

“Still feel like teasing me?” I ask, breath hot against his jaw.

“Only if you promise to punish me for it,” he says before spinning me and lifting me back onto the stump in one fluid motion.

We crash together, mouths hungry, our hands clawing. I can taste myself on his lips as he consumes me. I just knew Gilden would be a good kisser. Everything about this man is pure swagger and sensuality. His cock slides against my wet heat as he lines up, both of us trembling with need.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants against my neck. “Tell me now if you want this slow, cher , ‘cause I’m hangin’ by a fuckin’ thread.”

I grab his face, look him dead in the eyes, and whisper, “I never said I wanted it slow.”

He surges into me with a growl, deep and sudden and perfect.

I cry out, my nails digging into his back, clinging to him as he fills me fast and rough.

We move like wildfire, no finesse, just raw, burning hunger.

My thighs are locked tight around his waist as he fucks me on top of the old stump, his hands gripping my hips tight.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “How good you fit me, mon rossignol ? How deep I am?”

I moan, my head thrown back, helpless under the force of it.

“You take it so fuckin’ good, cher . So goddamn tight. . . fuck, I ain’t gon’ last.”

“Don’t,” I gasp, clenching around him. “Come for me.”

That does him in. He drives deep one last time and spills inside me with a groan that tears right out of his chest, holding me tight as his release shoves me over the edge one last time. We come apart together under the open Wyoming sky, the mountains the only witness to our coupling.

And for a moment, it’s all silent.

Steam rises from our skin as the birds in the trees call back and forth to each other. The scent of pine and sex is thick in the air.

I lean in, still breathless, to whisper against his ear. “Next time you’re splittin’ wood, you better warn me first.”

Gilden laughs, long and low, before pressing a kiss against my shoulder.

“Next time, cher , maybe I’ll fuck you with the handle of the axe against your neck,” he rasps.

My pussy clenches around him and he hums and kisses my neck.

“I see we both like the sound of that, mon rossignol . Good to know.” He leans back and meets my eyes, a wicked expression on his lips. “Very good to know.”