Come As You Are

I stare at her bare legs, every inch of my skin heated, burning with lust for her. I run my hands up the back of her thighs. “Look at you. So beautiful for me.” I slide my hands down to her ankles then kiss one cheek. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you?”

“How long?”

“Too fucking long. I’ve gotten off to this so many times. To going down on you.”

A full-body shudder shimmies along her legs. As I press a kiss to the back of her knee, a soft little moan falls from her lips. “How did you do it to me? When you fantasized about it?”

“Sometimes I spread you out on the table like this, or I turned you around and you were flat on your back, your heels at the edge of the wood.”

She shudders.

I kiss her right knee. “Sometimes you sat on my desk with your legs wide open and your feet up, and I had you for lunch.”

A gasp is her response. “I would come into your office and do that for you.”

“I know you would. And I’m going to hold you to that.” I run my hand up her thigh, cupping one cheek. “Sometimes you crawled up me and sat on my face, and you rocked your sexy little body against my mouth.”

She groans so loud it sends a rumble through my body. It makes my bones shake with lust. This is what it’s like to want someone with every fiber of your being. This desire for her, I feel it everywhere—inside me, along my skin, in my heart, in every goddamn cell in my body. It’s like a force of its own, obliterating everything else.

“Sometimes I’d set you on the couch, and I’d hold you down with my hands because you wiggled so much.”

“Because it was so good,” she moans.

I lick the back of her knee then flick my tongue up her thigh, reaching her ass. I lick across that wonderful seam where her ass meets her thigh, and she quivers. Her hands grip the edge of the table, white-knuckling it. “Of course it’s so good. It’s you and me, Angel.”

I bite the soft flesh of her rear, and she gasps, moving closer, trying valiantly to get me to bring my face between her legs.

“God, I want you so much. Please, please,” she whimpers. “Please take them off.”

I slide a hand between her legs and cup her. She’s so deliciously soaked, it sends a jolt of heat down my spine, and my dick hardens even more. “So wet.”

“Please,” she begs again.

It’s all she can say, and I don’t need her to say anything else.

“As you wish.” I slide down her panties, leave them on the floor, and press my lips close, but not quite close enough.

She wriggles, trying to get me to the sweet spot. Trying to push herself against my mouth. She’s a desperate, wanton thing. I shift to the other thigh and nip her flesh.

She cries out and moans my name. It sounds so fucking filthy and perfect on her lips that it breaks me down. “Do you want me to put you out of your misery, Angel?”

“Yes,” she moans, making that one syllable last like the chorus to a song.

At last, I kiss her.

I’m dizzy with desire. She’s sweet, salty honey. I lick her, and she cries out. Her taste floods my tongue, coats my lips. I kiss her harder, flicking my tongue across all that slippery heat.

As I go down on her, my brain is mostly a blur. My body is nothing but lust. But three things remain crystal clear.

I’m so fucking happy.

I’m so incredibly turned on.

And I’m deep in filthy, beautiful love with her.

29

Sabrina

It’s too much.

Too much pleasure, too much bliss, too much goodness.

I’m lost in the sensations that rocket through me.

Tingles and sparks and wild roller-coaster loops.

I’ve become a neon woman, a sign blinking brightly against the night. Pleasure served here.

He makes love to me with his lips, and he fucks me with his tongue, and he spears my flesh with his fingers. They dig into my thighs, and this is the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.

I don’t have to think. I get to feel.

My nerve endings come alive. Heat flares across my skin as his tongue lavishes attention on me. He flicks faster, kisses more deeply, makes love to me with his mouth so wickedly that I fear I might not recover.

I believe I’ll be amenable to that.

Gripping the table for dear life, I rock against him, letting him set the pace, letting him control the tempo, knowing he’ll get me there.

He’ll get me everywhere.

I’m a comet tearing across the night sky, hurtling on a wild thrill ride through the cosmos.

I spin and spiral, and soon, soon everything turns to a blur and I’m soaring. I’m starlight and moonlight, flying so far above the earth.

I didn’t know it was possible to come this hard, this thoroughly. I don’t want to come down, not ever. I want to live inside these millions of sensations like diamonds in my body.

At some point, I breathe again. I blink open my eyes. I smile like a fool in love. “Thanks. May I have another?” I murmur. I mean it as sort of a joke, but he takes me seriously.

“As you wish.”

He scoops me up, carries me to the futon, and lays me down.

We reenact one of his fantasies. He spreads my legs, and in seconds, he has me so wild that he grips my hands, holding them tightly to keep me still.

Or stiller, I should say. Because I’m a live wire, writhing and thrusting as he licks me again and again.

When I near the cliff a second time, I murmur huskily, my throat dry, “Let me touch you, please.”

He lets go of my fingers, and I grab his head, holding on to him. Like that, I come again, his face between my legs, my hands wrapped in his hair.

A minute later, or maybe more, I open my eyes to find a gloriously naked and gorgeous Flynn standing at my side, stroking his cock. God, he’s stunning.

Reaching out, I trace the grooves of his abs, the cut of his arms, and I feel his hot, hard length in my hands. He shudders when I touch him, thrusting against my palm.

“You’re mine,” I whisper.

“I’m yours,” he murmurs. “And you’re mine.”

I sit up. I’m still in a daze, but I pull off my dress, and I’m completely naked. “Flynn, can we go bare? I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.”

“Fuck, yes. I’m clean.”

That’s all we need to know. He flips me to my knees, and I want to weep with happiness.

I hate missionary.

I love being taken.

He knows what I need, and he’s going to give it to me. He’s put me on my hands and knees, spreading my cheeks, rubbing the head of his cock against me.

I ache.

Exquisitely.

Deeply.

My body craves him like a filthy drug.

I am desperate for my fix, and he gives it to me, shoving deep inside with a carnal groan.

I cry out. “God, it’s so good.”

“It’s better than the first time.”

“I know,” I whisper.

And it’s not the position, though I love how he grabs my ass as he moves in me.

It’s not the depth either. But I adore how he’s reaching the ends of me, how I can feel him everywhere.

It’s not even how he pushes on my back, making me lower my chest to the futon. Or how he loops my hair around his fist, though all of that sends me into the stratosphere.

It’s how he loves me, even when he fucks me.

It’s better because we’re Angel and Duke, city explorers, wordsmith and mathematician, poetry reciter and poetry receiver, and most of all, we are us.