She nods before I ask.
“Words,” I say.
“Yes. Please.”
Please nearly kills me.
I take the cotton down and put my mouth on her pussy.
She breaks.
Not all the way. Not yet. But the sound that leaves her is raw and shocked, like pleasure ambushed her. I hold her hips and take every tremor, every stifled cry, every whispered curse. She tastes like hot sugar and need. It’s the end of my self-control. Though, I make myself stay there until her knees shake and her hand slaps over her mouth.
I stop immediately.
“Don’t hide it because of me,” I say.
Her eyes are wet. “August.”
Right.
Good.
Jesus.
I kiss her thigh once, gentle now. “Then bite my shoulder when it gets too loud.”
Her eyes flare.
That idea does something to her.
To me too.
I stand, and she reaches for me, pulling at my belt with clumsy hands. My swollen knuckles make me slower than I want, so she helps. Button. Zipper. Belt. Her eyes drop when she feels what she has done to me, and the look on her face is going to ruin me.
Not scared.
A little stunned.
A lot hungry.
I step out of my jeans and reach for protection in the nightstand because I ain’t that far gone. She watches me like every move matters.
It does.
When I come back to her, she is sitting on the edge of the bed, bare, hair loose, lips swollen, legs parted just enough to make me forget my own name.
I put a hand under her chin. “You can still stop.”
“I know.”
“You can still slow down.”
“I know.”
“You can still tell me to sleep on the floor and pray for death.”
Her mouth trembles into a smile. “I know.”