Page 52 of The Parent Trap

Glad of it, if anything.

His mouth tears away from mine, and I gasp at the abrupt loss of his mouth on mine, whimper to express somehow that I want his kiss back.

I get it—I get his kiss back.

Not on my mouth.

He kisses my throat. The hollow at the base of my throat.

The no-man’s-land between my throat and the apex of my cleavage. My hands tangle in his hair and my eyes are closed and my head tilted up and all I can feel is his mouth on my skin, kissing me and licking and nipping.

His mouth on my skin tells me in a way no amount of words ever could that he finds me beautiful. More than beautiful.

That he needs me.

It’s not want, not desire—it’sneed.

His mouth travels lower. One hand cups my breast and lifts it reverently, kneads it and thumbs the nipple until I’m gasping with the sensation. And then his mouth covers my breast and he’s suckling and licking and I’m delirious.

The other breast receives the same attention, and I’m gasping, moaning. Who am I? Who is he? What’s happening? I know none of the answers in this moment and don’t even care.

This feelsincredible, and it’s all I care about.

I don’t dare even breathe as he drops to his knees. Stopping him never even enters my mind.

I am a creature of pure physical need, right now, and all I care about is what he’s doing to me. I don’t care who he is. I don’t care what comes next. All I care about ismore.

I never knew it was possible to feel this way from pure desire, from raw need, from nothing more than his mouth on my flesh.

My nipples are hard, my skin tight. My breathing is hoarse and ragged. My knees dip, but he’s holding me up. One hand cups my ass, squeezes, caresses, holds. The other is on my tits, exploring one and the other and both. And his mouth is on my belly. Kissing my hipbone.

Who am I, allowing this to happen?

I don’t care. I’ll be whoever I need to be, if only he won’t stop.

I want to feel good. More. More.

I hear myself saying it. “More.” It’s a raw, ragged whisper. “More.”

His cheeks, unshaven for days, are rough on the tender silk of my inner thighs. When his lips touch my sex, I cry out loud, a wordless sound of incredulous, wondrous need.

He growls.

And then his tongue parts my folds and flicks against the aching flower of my clit, and I’m lost, lost, lost. He’s doing this. To me.

My knees threaten to give out, but somehow I know he won’t let me fall. I sag against the door and thrust myself against his mouth with a wanton, growling whimper of savage desire. Hold on to his head, fingers knotted in his hair. Rock against his tongue.

And holy hell, if I’d thought he was skilled at kissing my mouth, it’s nothing compared to his artistry at kissing my sex. He has the mouth of a god. Teasing, driving, maddening. He brings me to the cusp within seconds but then slows and draws me away, and then higher and closer to the edge once more, only to pull me back yet again.

One hand is still reaching up to fondle my breasts, and the other now traces my folds as he pulls his mouth away for a moment, and then I feel his finger entering me. Just one, but it’s thick and he knows my insides, knows where to touch me, and I cry out. With one finger inside me, he brings me to the edge a third time.

Pulls that finger out. Immediately, I feel myself clench around the loss of his touch—but he’s there again with two fingers sliding through my wetness, and I whimper, rock against the fingers as they penetrate me and then his mouth fuses over my sex where I’m aching for him and throbbing for more. His tongue swirls and flicks and his fingers drive in and out with a hooking motion, and each time his fingers find my depths, I’m wrenched closer and closer to the edge of release, and now I am fraught with need—not just need now, not a nebulous but potent feeling of mere desire. No, this is more. This is a need on an atomic level for release.

“Please,” I rasp, whispering hoarsely. “Please.”

His answer is a growl against my sex.

His answer is to push me over the edge and push me past it into wild delirium with mouth and with tongue and with fingers, tweaking my nipples and cradling my breast and tonguing my clit with furious circles and driving his fingers inside me with nearly violent speed, but it’s what I need, what I want.