S'more of You (Summer Lovin' collection)(16)
“Me either,” I whisper.
“You like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
His mouth covers mine hungrily, his tongue moving in tandem with his middle finger that parts me gently, rubbing and spreading the abundant moisture. When he grazes my clitoris with his knuckle, my knees lock tight, then give out entirely, forcing Dean to catch me, preventing me from falling. Holding me with his left arm banded around the small of my back, he kisses me deeply, so deeply, while his right hand lowers my panties, pushing them down past my hips until they’re able to slip to my knees.
“Sit on the edge of the bench,” he says, guiding me down, and I go, watching him move with me so fluidly, his knees planting on the floor in front of me as he tugs my panties the rest of the way off, never stopping, planting kisses on my knees, right, left, right, until I’m ready to open my thighs, and when I do, he rises once to press a reassuring kiss to my mouth. Twice. A breath. And then his lips chart a path down my throat to my exposed breast, tonguing my nipple into a tingling point, continuing down my bare tummy to my lap, his capable hands guiding my knees up and over his shoulders. “I’m going to make you come like this, Margot,” he says gruffly, rubbing his mouth against my flesh, his breath accelerating. “When I’m done, if that’s all you want tonight, you tell me.”
“Okay,” I manage, my pulse in a tailspin.
Look at him. On his knees in the dark.
My legs draped over his shoulders.
I’m never getting over this.
Correction: I’m never getting over what he does next. I never really understood the term eat me out, but I comprehend it quickly, watching him do exactly that. His mouth goes into me like a meal, taking whole portions of me between eager lips, rubbing in spots I had no idea were so sensitive, using my wetness and his own spit to turn me into a slippery mess, transforming me into a shaking, whimpering vibration of nerves when he presses my thighs open an inch more and targets my clit, slapping his tongue over it and grinding gently, gently, then with increasing pressure. Grunting and closing his eyes as he does it.
I’ve never been able to shut my overly analytical brain down before, but he does it for me now. I collapse back against a screened window, I think, and sob his name once, and he must hear a request for something I couldn’t voice, because his middle finger pushes inside of me now, and the fullness, oh God, the full pressure of his finger combined with the pattern his tongue takes over my clit jumbles my wits like shaken puzzle pieces, and it happens. I tighten into an orgasm, spasms pulsing my sex, the enormity of the release rocking me in an unexpected way. A loose kind of freedom takes over, and I don’t think . . .
I don’t think.
I don’t know what happens, but I have to obey my body’s need to get closer to him. It’s more compulsion than anything, and he’s already reaching for me, so I go. I free-fall off the edge of the cushioned bench, allowing him to catch me, easing me into a straddle on his lap, while my mouth moves in frantic communication with his, tasting myself in between gasps for air, gravity pressing the sensitive juncture of my thighs to the denim ridge of his erection.
“That was so good,” I say unevenly, rolling my hips. I’m babbling and I know it, but I don’t care. It’s Dean. My Dean. “Oh my God, that felt so good. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me when you taste like pure sugar,” he rasps into a kiss, his palm smacking lightly off my ass like a sweet admonishment, and lust erupts inside of me, from some dormant volcano deep inside, all reserved for him.
“Can I take your shirt off?” I ask, my fingers already scrambling for the hem.
“You’re naked except for my badges.” His head falls back on a pained wince, those hips lifting, bringing my knees a few inches off the floor. “Believe me, you can do whatever you want.”
I pull the shirt up and over his head, the intoxication of what’s happening only getting headier, more urgent, thanks to his upper torso. The strained musculature of his shoulders, the thickness of his pecs. His hands are propped on the floor behind his hips, making his biceps pop, and I’m suddenly more positive than ever that this is happening.
“I waited a long time for you,” I hiccup against his mouth, my palms dragging down the front of his body to the fly of his jeans, flicking open the button, his chest starting to heave roughly against me, as if he senses the direction I’m taking, his glazed eyes opening to study me while I kiss him. “Is it okay with you if I don’t wait anymore?”
“You want me inside you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
Every time I think Dean can’t get any hotter, he does something to prove me wrong. Like now, when he falls backward, his sweaty chest rising and falling in an erotic dance of shadows while he digs into his pocket, taking out his wallet. A condom. “Go ahead, then. Take out my cock if you need it so bad.” He rips the condom foil open with his teeth. “You can’t need it half as bad as I need that wet pussy.”
I make a sound through my teeth, my fingers clumsy on his zipper. I have to focus to get the metal teeth down and over the bulge—and that’s where my focus dies. RIP. Because there’s Dean, long and thick in my hands. I’m stroking him instinctively while he moans, his head back, his neck tendons straining. I’ve never put a condom on before, but I’ve seen it demonstrated online, plus once on a banana courtesy of some drunk friends. But all I want in this life is to get Dean inside of me, so I take the halo from his fingers and roll the thin layer of latex down his shaft, whimpering when he reaches out to help me, the sight of his hand on his own dick brutally hot.