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the world. Thank goodness he knows what he’s doing. A suck at my clit makes me clamp my thighs
around his head with a grunt. A little giggle escapes and I slap my hand over my mouth to stop the
words from bubbling up. Who knew I was chatty during sex? But I am not going to ruin the mood
again. No chance.
Zach scolds me with a little nip, just beside my clit. It makes me jump with a squeak, but I can’t
decide if it hurt, or if it felt amazing. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it hurts too good.
“Don’t do that. I want to hear all of it. Your laughter. Your tears. I want all of you. Even if you’re
giggling while my tongue is on your clit.”
My cheeks heat and another giggle escapes. He rolls his eyes at me, and I take a second to admire
his shiny cheeks. He’s sure sweaty….wait. That’s not sweat. That’s me. I’m all over his cheeks. Oh,
my god. Yep, here they come.
“I’m so glad you know what you’re doing. I should send thank you letters to all those women. I
mean, you’re really good at this. Thank goodness. I don’t even want to imagine what it would have
been like to let some teenager get into my pants in high school. I can’t imagine that would be much
fun, all crumpled up in the back of some car while he…Oh god. Wait. How…”
I have no words. Zach, apparently not interested in anything I’m saying, dives back in, putting his
lips and tongue to spectacular use. But what makes me scream, what sends me over the edge, is the
thick fingers that push into me, twisting and rubbing.
As I detonate, losing track of everything but my connection to him, I reach out, needing to feel him.
He doesn’t hesitate, not for a second, instead surging up and pulling me into his arms. He holds me
through the shaking, petting my hair and murmuring in my ear. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it
doesn’t matter. Because I feel loved. Completely.
As I come back to my body, I gaze up at him. He’s watching me so seriously. I reach up and
smooth my thumb over his eyebrow.
“Thank you,” he says, “Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for being with me.”
I smile at him. He’s sappy, and I love it. But I’m a little distracted right now. I rise up, shoving
him over to his back, and throw my thigh over his hips. “You can thank me by letting me ride you.”
“Dammit woman, I was trying to have a moment here,” his frown isn’t terribly convincing.
Neither is the humor lacing his tone. But I try for contrite and apologetic, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, wrapping my hand along his base and rising up. “I’ll make it up to you
