Page 105 of IRL: In Real Life
His eyes dropped and stayed there for one hard second.
“You know what smelling that sweet pussy on my hand all the way home did?”
“Micah—”
My pussy clenched around nothing.
His dark eyes found mine.
“It fucked me up.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw again. “Still got me fucked up.”
Shit.
He looked down at me, breath slow and measured like he was talking himself through the last of his own restraint. Then his hands found the hem of my dress.
“Lift your arms.”
I did.
He pulled the caramel knit up my body slowly, dragging it over my hips, my waist, my breasts, taking his time like the removal was part of the touching. By the time the dress cleared my head and landed somewhere near his feet, I was standing in front of him in lace and gold, my back still against his dresser, his body right there in front of mine.
The way he looked at me made my breath catch.
His eyes moved over my skin with the kind of focus that made me feel touched everywhere he had not put his hands yet. My breasts. My stomach. My hips. The lace between my thighs. The gold at my wrists and ears. He took me in like he wanted to remember the first time he saw me like this and hated that looking was not enough.
Then he went to his knees.
Just like that.
Like he had been thinking about it too long to bother pretending he was still cool now.
My stomach dipped hard.
His hands slid up the backs of my thighs, warm and steady, and eased me a little higher against the dresser so I was half-sitting on the edge, one foot still on the floor, the other leg opening when he guided it wider. One of my hands flew back to brace on the wood behind me while the other found his shoulder.
He kissed the inside of my thigh first.
Slow enough to make me feel every inch of where his mouth was headed.
Then the other.
His hands spread me open with a steadiness that made my whole body go liquid before he had even really started. When he looked up at me, his eyes were dark enough to make my knees weaken all over again.
He dragged his thumb once through the soft curls and slick heat already waiting for him and watched my face when he did it.
My breath caught.
His mouth brushed the inside of my thigh. “Still got me fucked up.”
He kissed me there again, then lower, then lower still until his tongue finally touched me and every coherent thought left my head.
He ate me like he had been carrying the taste of me around too long to do anything halfway. Slow when he needed to learn what made me twitch. Meaner when he got it. His tongue dragged through me, broad and deliberate, then narrowed at my clit until my hips lifted on instinct.
One hand stayed firm at my thigh. The other flattened over my stomach, holding me where he wanted me, keeping me open when my body tried to fold in on itself.
“Micah,” I breathed, fingers already gripping his head and holding him to me.
He only made a sound against me and kept going.
