Page 71 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Please tell me this isn’t a dream,” he mumbled against my lips. A laugh tumbled out of me. “Actually,” he said, kissing me some more, “it doesn’t matter. Just don’t wake me.”
I would have laughed again, but he rolled on top, and the weight of him took all my attention. My mouth salivated at the idea of him being inside me again, of feeling his rhythm, of letting him wind me so tightly until I came apart in ribbons.
He positioned himself at my entrance but then pulled back, groaning. “I only had the one condom.” He dropped his head to my shoulder. “The one I keep in my wallet.” His voice was gravelly from sleep. “I really expected myself to behave as a gentleman,” he said with a sigh.
“You’ve been a perfect gentleman,” I replied, angling my face to kiss him again.
Beck’s lips left mine, trailing down my throat. He veered off to cup and kiss my breasts. My nipples budded at the attention, but then Beck was off again, following an invisible path down my stomach.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as he sucked a spot just below my navel.
“I’m hungry,” he said into my skin, and my insides turned molten under his lips.
“Beck,” I breathed, toes curling as he moved farther south. His lips stopped their descent, and he ran a hand up my leg.
“God, Emily. You have no idea what your body does to me.”
Heat spread across my chest as his fingers inched closer and closer to my center. “I think I have some idea,” I groaned, completely at the mercy of his fingertips.
He smiled the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile at that but then turned all business as he traced the crease of my lips. I moaned, feeling myself swell for him.
“I know I said I was above groveling.” He splayed his large hands on my thighs and spread me open. “But here I am. Begging,” he said, voice strained. “May I please taste you, Emily?”
The question sucked all the air out of the room. My tongue felt like a dead weight in my mouth, so I nodded.
“Emily Lane, use your words.” He massaged my thigh, and the pressure of his fingers made me lightheaded. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I croaked.
He hooked my legs over his shoulders, and I reached up, fisting the sheets above my head, bracing for him. But nothing could prepare me for the luxurious sweep of his tongue across my clit, the way he sucked languidly as if savoring his favorite piece of candy.
I cried out, and Beck placed the gentlest of kisses on the most sensitive of places.
“There’s no storm this morning, Lane.” His low voice rumbled across my sex.
Oh God. I knew what he was saying. We only had the thin canvas walls as a barrier for sound, and we already knew how well they insulated noise thanks to Kat and Jake’s demonstration.
He nuzzled my thigh. “Do you think you can be quiet until I’m finished with breakfast?”
I whimpered in response, but he showed no mercy. His tongue entered me, stroking upward. I gasped, and my grip on the bedding tightened with my effort to keep silent.
I’d had sex before, plenty of it. And most of my boyfriends could make me come most of the time. But this. This was different. This was art.
Beck slipped his tongue out, repositioning it on my center, only to push two fingers in, curling and uncurling them, bringing another current of sensation. My back arched off the bed. He was going to make being quiet as difficult as possible.
Typical, competitive Beckett.
At least, with his tongue and fingers working in tandem, I wasn’t going to have to stay quiet for long. I teetered toward the edge at an alarming rate. “Beck,” I groaned, clamping my hands on his head, tangling my fingers in his curls.
He paused to moan. It vibrated through me. “You taste even better than I imagined.” He scraped his teeth down my clit and started suckling.
“Beck, please,” I cried, unable to keep quiet. My heels dug into his back.
What I wanted him to do, I didn’t know. Slow down so I could enjoy it longer? Speed up because the tension was too much? I had no idea. All I knew was I ended up being the one to beg.
This was bliss.
This was torture.
