Page 114 of IRL: In Real Life
“No.” His eyes dipped to the bare length of my thighs under his shirt, then came back up. “I’m paying attention.”
He reached behind me for the fruit bowl.
My brows lifted. “What are you doing?”
He dipped one finger into the whipped cream and looked at me like a man who had already decided to be a problem and was simply being decent enough to let me notice first.
“Breakfast.”
Then he went down.
My breath caught before his knees even hit the floor.
He set one hand at my hip and pulled me a little closer to the edge of the stool, just enough for the shirt to ride higher on my thighs. I had nothing on underneath it. No panties. No protection from his eyes, his hands, or the fact that I had walked into that kitchen wearing his T-shirt and too much confidence for a woman who should have known better.
His hands slid up my thighs and spread them wider.
The sound left me before I could stop it.
My bare ass stayed right at the edge of the stool while Micah settled between my legs like breakfast had always been headed here. He looked up at me once, dark eyes steady, and then that finger touched me.
Not my thigh.
My pussy.
He dragged the whipped cream through my folds slowly, spreading the cold sweetness over my pussy lips until my wholebody jerked. My wetness took it instantly, turning the whole thing slicker, dirtier, more intimate than it had any business being in broad morning light.
“Micah—”
He didn’t stop.
His thumb pressed lightly at my clit, smearing a little more there, circling once with maddening slowness while his other hand held my thigh open.
My breath caught so hard it hurt.
He looked up.
Hungry. Focused. Quiet in that ruinous way that had already become his signature with me.
“Tell me to stop.”
I looked at his mouth. At the finger still gliding through whipped cream and me, making a filthy little mess of both.
“Don’t insult me,” I whispered.
He laughed low and brief.
Then his tongue touched me.
And all thought left.
He licked the whipped cream away slowly at first, dragging his tongue through the sweetness he had spread over my pussy lips, then up, then back down again, taking his time like the whole point was making me feel it before he really got started. Cold turned warm. Sweet disappeared under his mouth. My body jumped every time his tongue found my clit and circled it with just enough pressure to make my legs threaten to close.
His beard scraped softly against the inside of my thighs. One hand spread harder over my hip to keep me steady while the other pushed my thigh wider and held it there.
The first real flick of his tongue against my clit made my legs shake.
The second made me grab the edge of the island.
