Page 105 of You Make Me Feel
It’s like he’s memorizing every inch of me with his touch. My skin prickles beneath his fingertips. I arch into him without meaning to, chasing the feel of him, even though my mind is still caught on the things he said.
He doesn’t speak again. Instead he presses his lips to my hipbone, then lower, and lower, forcing the breath from my lungs. Then he kisses me, right there, softly, before he parts me with his tongue, so slowly I buck up with desire.
It’s like he’s worshipping, not playing. Like he’s trying to erase the ache with every stroke. He licks me again, harder this time, and my hands clutch the edge of the bed, my hips rising as the tension inside of me coils tight.
I feel exposed and seen, every nerve ending awake, every breath a silent plea. And still, he doesn’t rush.
“Look how wet you are,” he murmurs against my skin, voice rough with need. “All this for me?” His tongue drags through me again, slow and filthy, making me whimper. “You’re so damn addictive.”
My thighs tremble as he slides a finger inside of me, his mouth greedy, his tongue relentless. He groans, low and possessive, the sound vibrating against my core.
“I could eat you for hours. Make you forget your name. Make you forget anything but me.”
My fingers thread into his hair, pulling tight as he sucks hard on my clit, and I cry out, hips jerking. He laughs softly,breath hot. “That’s it. Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
So I do. My body coils tight, every muscle drawn like a bowstring as I call out his name, my fingernails scraping against his scalp.
His tongue doesn’t stop, not even when I’m shaking, not even when I beg. It’s too much and not enough. I fall apart with a cry, pulsing against his mouth as the waves crash through me. It feels endless, raw, like something he’s pulled straight from my soul.
I’m still gasping when he rises, dragging his body over mine, kissing my stomach, my ribs, the valley between my breasts. By the time his mouth finds mine, I can still taste myself on his lips. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s trying to take something from me and give it back all at once.
And it doesn’t feel like a game. Not anymore. It feels too raw, too real for that.
His hands frame my face as he pulls back, his eyes boring into mine. “You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I nod. “Yes.”
He reaches down, guides himself to me, then pauses, holding there. His forehead drops to mine, and he breathes me in like he’s trying to commit this to memory.
Then, without a word, he pushes inside.
My breath stutters, not from the stretch of him but from the way he looks at me as he opens me up in the best way. Like I’m the only thing that matters. His gaze holds mine, locked and steady, and I feel it everywhere. In my chest. In my throat. In the places that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with him.
He moves slow at first, like he’s savoring me, wanting to feel every inch as he fills me up in the bestway. His thumb brushes over my cheek, then down to trace my jaw as he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me again. It’s deep and languid, like he’s trying to anchor himself.
Every scrape of him against me is delicious. Making my nerves sing and my skin heat up. I kiss him harder, beg him to move, wrap my thighs around his hips.
“Christ, Sadie,” he mutters. Like he’s not playing anymore either.
He thrusts deeper, slow and steady, his hand cradling my jaw like I might break if he lets go. The intensity in his gaze steals my breath more than the way he moves. It’s not possession. It’s something quieter. And way more dangerous.
His mouth brushes mine again, slower this time, like he doesn’t want to miss the way I taste. “You feel like heaven,” he whispers, the words unraveling me.
I slide my fingers into his hair, needing the contact, needing him. And when he starts to move with more urgency, his forehead still pressed to mine, I feel it everywhere. A rolling wave of sensation, of connection, of something I can’t name.
He presses his lips to my temple, to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth. Each kiss is a promise. Or maybe it’s a lie. I don’t know. I don’t care. Because right now, I’m his. Every breath. Every thought. Every part of me.
And when we come undone together, wrapped around each other like we’re trying to anchor ourselves to the world, I already know the truth.
I’ve fallen for this man who seems to anticipate my every want, need, and desire. And I’m not sure there’s any way to stop it.
twenty-eight
ZACH
On the morning of the gala I wake up with a splitting headache. Groaning, I turn over in the bed and see Sadie curled up, fast asleep, her red curls spilling out over the pillow, her lips parted as her soft breath escapes them.
She looks peaceful, like the last few days haven’t shaken her at all. Like sleeping in my bed, waking up in my arms, laughing at my stupid jokes while stealing my last clean hoodie is the most natural thing in the world.
