Page 168 of Yearn

Heat pooled in her cheeks, that gorgeous tell that blood was rushing to her skin, preparing her body for what it knew was coming.

She whispered, "Scott's upstairs."

"I know exactly where Scott is." I took another step. Close enough now to see her pulse hammering visibly beneath the delicate skin of her neck. "The question is. . . where do you want my cock to be?"

I already knew the answer.

Her body had been screaming it since she'd walked into this kitchen—the way she angled toward me despite her words, the way her breathing had gone shallow and rapid, the way her hands trembled slightly before she crossed her arms.

Classic sympathetic nervous system activation.

Fight or flight.

Except her body had chosen a third option.

Fuck.

I grinned.

The new piercing still ached, a steady pulse against the underside of my tongue.

Even that sting fascinated me.

Pain and purpose coiled together.

I could feel the metal bead resting cool against the muscle.

During rounds this afternoon, I’d caught myself testing it against the roof of my mouth, analyzing texture and temperature the way I might a medical tool.

Pressure.

Density.

Conductivity.

The piercer had rattled off the after-care list, warning me. For at least two weeks, there was to be no contact, no heat, no saliva exchanges. Break the rules, and I’d risk infection, swelling, even bacteria slipping into my bloodstream.

And still, none of it mattered.

Because I’d made this piercing for her.

If it tore, if it bled, if the taste of metal outlasted the taste of air, so be it. I’d trade the risk of a fever for the certainty of her pleasure.

My body was already a study in devotion; one more open wound wouldn’t make me hesitate.

Tonight. . .her pussy would feel this piercing. The metal barb could hold chill longer than flesh, deliver sharper pressure, and spread delicious vibrations differently through the softness of her clit.

I wanted to give her thatright now.

Heightened sensory precision.

I flexed my tongue within my mouth, preparing myself to move it through the pain.

Her pleasure was my only intent now.

She watched me and then spoke, "I need to get him water, and then we can talk."

But again, she didn't move at all except for that rapid rise and fall of her chest, and those perfect breasts straining against thin fabric.