I came down over her and kissed her, deep and slow, and she opened under me and pulled me in with her heels at the backs of my thighs, and I took my time even though every muscle I owned was voting against it. I kissed her jaw, her throat, the wet hollow of her collarbone. I got a hand under her back and arched her up and took one cold-tight nipple in my mouth, and the sound she made — high and shocked — went straight through me.
“Garrick — “
“Right here.” I moved to the other breast, dragged my beard soft across her skin between them, felt her body answer, all the way down. “You talk all day, sweetheart. Talk now. Tell me what’s good.”
“That. That’s — the beard, the beard is good, I had theories about the beard — “
“Yeah?” I kissed my way down the soft of her stomach, unhurried, both hands full of her hips. “What were the theories?”
“That it would —” Her words broke as I settled between her thighs and pressed them wide with both palms. Her voice went thin as my breath fluttered over her wetness. “That it would feel —”
“Like this?” I murmured before licking the inside of her thigh, then scraping my beard along the same path.
“Garrick,” she moaned.
“Right here, sweetheart.” I did the same thing to her other thigh.
“Are you going to kiss it and make it better?” she whispered.
“Oh, I’m going to make something feel much, much better.”
Then I kissed my way up to where she was already soaked for me. Drenched, for me.
“Garrick, you don’t have to,” she said, her fingers sliding through my hair.
I looked up the length of her body. “Amy.”
“Present?”
“I’ve been thinking about the taste of you since, well, honestly, since I dragged you out of the river.” I turned my head and moved my mouth along the inside of her thigh, past the fresh bandage. I saw the bruise on her hip and covered it with kisses. “There is nowhere on this mountain I’d rather be. Now lie back and let me eat.”
She lay back.
The first long taste of her pussy pulled a groan out of me. She tasted of sweetness and salt and her.
“Oh, my god,” she said to the ceiling.
I took my time the way I did everything. Long slow strokes of my tongue until her hips found the rhythm and rode it. Then her clit, soft circles, softer than she expected — I could tell by the frustrated sound she made as her fingers fisted my hair. I smiled against her.
“Say it, Amy. Tell me what you want.”
“Harder, Garrick, please.”
“There’s the talker.” I slid one finger into her, slowly, and her whole body bowed. Tight. Scalding. Her thighs came up against my ears, and I hooked my arms under them and pinned her open and stopped being patient.
She was loud. Thank God, she was loud — I’d have been disappointed by anything less from her — and the words burned down into fragments. My name.Yes, right there.And a detailed threat about what would happen to me if I stopped. I worked asecond finger in and curled them before sealing my mouth over her clit and sucking.
She went off like I’d lit a fuse, thighs shaking, her cry cracking in the middle, her heels digging into the mattress by my head because I refused to let her close her legs or hurry away from my mouth. I worked her through it, gentling by degrees, until she pushed weakly at my head.
“Okay. Okay. I need — a medic. A moment. A cigarette maybe? Oh, wait, I don’t smoke.” Her arms were stretched out across the mattress, and my hands were the only thing holding her legs up.
I kissed the inside of her knee and came up over her. She looked destroyed in the best way a woman can look destroyed — flushed down to her breasts, eyes glassy, mouth soft. She reached up and dragged her thumb through my wet beard.
“Theories confirmed,” she said hoarsely.
I smiled and she smiled back.
I leaned down and kissed her, letting her taste herself on my lips. She liked that apparently because her legs wrapped around me once again and her arms pulled me closer.