Page 33 of Wish I Might
“Uh-huh.Grab the headboard.”
The smirk deepened, and she stretched out her arms to run her hands over the smooth, sleek, wood panel.“How am I supposed to do that, exactly?”
“God, you’re a brat.”He fucking loved it.“Grab your hair.”
“No.”
“What happened to ‘I can give up control’?”he asked.
“Well, Icould, but I didn’t shave my armpits.”
Jesus Christ, who cares?“Then put them behind your back.”
“You’re really making this complicated,” she complained, but obeyed.
He climbed onto the bed.“And keep them there.”
The sparkling anticipation in her eyes turned to shock when he grabbed her knees and shoved them wide.“What—?”
“Shut up,” he said and, flopping forward onto his belly, shoved his face between her legs, stopping about two inches from the promised land.
She squealed and tried to jerk her legs closed, her thighs slapping against his ears before he managed to firm his grip and shove them wide again.Holding tight, he looked his fill.
God, he’d missed her pussy.So pretty and pink and gleaming wet, with a plump, fat clit that he’d once lived to suck on.She’d shaved her pubic hair completely back then, a practice she’d clearly abandoned.He found the thick thatch of ebony curls at the top of her mound fascinating and, curious, he let go of one knee to delve his fingers into it.
She made a sound, a kind of throaty exclamation, and he looked up from between her thighs.She was watching him, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, that Bailey smirk firmly in place.
He gave the damp curls a light tug.“You stopped shaving.”
“It’s a pain in the ass,” she replied.“Deal with it.”
Amused that she thought he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—he said, “Okay,” and dragged his tongue from her taint to her clit in one long, slurping lick.
He had the pleasure of seeing her eyes go hazy and her mouth go slack, erasing the smirk, and he wanted to keep looking at her face so he could savor every twinge of delight, every spasm of ecstasy.But her pussy was right there, the gorgeous, glorious taste of her in his mouth for the first time in eight long years, and he was too eager for more to spare even a second of his attention.
He’d look at her face when he was fucking her, he decided and, wedging his shoulders between her thighs, got reacquainted with her pussy.
She tasted as rich, as ripe as he remembered, like a decadent dessert, spicy and sweet.Her skin was soft, plump and hot with her arousal, and he devoured her like that dessert, licking and sucking and plucking with teeth and lips and tongue while she ground herself eagerly against his face, her little whines and pants and wails echoing above him, a familiar and beloved song.
He let it wash over him, let the joy of it rush through him.His own arousal was keen, a heady rush that would’ve left him shaky on his feet if he’d been upright, but he didn’t care.All his focus was on the woman in front of him, and the needy, greedy flesh between her thighs.
He knew that flesh as well as he knew his own, had dreamed of it, of her, more times over the years than he could count.Dreamed of having this chance again, to make her squeal and pant, clutch and cry, scream and come.He’d lived for her orgasms, for the way she’d fall apart, sweaty and shaky and incoherent with pleasure, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding her together.
He’d dreamt of those moments most of all.
She brought him abruptly back to the present when her hands slid into his hair, tried to drag his mouth up to her clit.With a warning growl, he bit her labia.“Behind your back,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“Goddamn you,” she choked out, but her hands disappeared, and he rewarded her with a strong, hard suck on her distended clit before moving down to the open, dripping hole of his dreams.
He shoved his tongue as deep as he could, wiggling and jabbing and stroking against those sensitive inner walls, pushing his hands under her ass to tilt her up, and was rewarded by the first flutters of impending orgasm.
His dick was so hard it hurt, and he had to force himself not to grind against the bed.More than once while going down on her he’d gotten so turned on by the taste and feel—and the power trip of making her come—that he’d shot his load on the blankets instead of in her, and that was not going to happen tonight.
He was older now, wiser, more in control of his dick.In control of her, he reminded himself, and with that thought echoing, slowed the thrust of his tongue.
“No,” she choked out, ass bouncing in his hands as she thrust upward, trying to jam her crotch into his face.“Dammit, Nash.”
“Not in charge, remember?”he told her, and gave her clit a delicate lick that made her shudder before rising to his knees between her sticky thighs.He gave one of them a pat.“Stay put.”
