It turns out she does blush everywhere.
“You better say something, or I’m in danger of throwing myself into the bathtub and never coming up for air.” The blush stealing across her chest deepens, but she holds perfectly still, her eyes on my face even as I drink in the sight of her.
I am not a man who always has the right words, or even knows the right thing to do most the time. But I do right now. I cross to her and sink to my knees.
She lets out a nervous laugh. “What are you doing?”
“The only thing a man in my position can do when faced with a goddess. Worship her.”
“Bowen. You can’t say shit like that. If Aphrodite exists, you’re going to bring her wrath down on me.”
I catch her wide hips and tug her several inches closer. My mouth waters. I can’t stop myself from leaning down and kissing her dimpled thighs. Perfect. Everything about her is perfect. I guide one leg over my shoulder and open her to me. Her pussy is perfect, pink and practically begging for my mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”
“If you stop right now, I might turn into an actual goddess and smite you.”
That surprises a chuckle out of me. “Can’t have that.” I trail kisses up her thigh, partially because I can’t stand the thought of being this close and not having my mouth on her, and partially because I’m afraid if I get a taste of her pussy right now, I’ll fall on her like a starving man. It’s been quite a while for me, and Evelyn is no casual bed partner. She’s right about the fact that this can’t last, and yet I find myself not wanting to do anything to scare her away.
All the while, I stare up at her gorgeous body. I love that she blushes so thoroughly. I want to see her skin go pink with desire instead of embarrassment. I want to be the one to paint the color across her features.
And then I kiss my way to her pussy, and I think of nothing at all. She tastes of the sea, which is a strange thing to think and yet it feels like coming home. I know better than to believe this woman is made for me. That’s not how life works. That’s sure as fuck not how my life works.
But I don’t know how I’m going to let her go at the end of this.
CHAPTER 18
Evelyn
IN THE TIME SINCE MEETING BOWEN, I’VE ENTERTAINED more fantasies about him then I’ll ever admit aloud. Especially after that kiss. The man made me orgasm while dry humping in our clothes as if we were a pair of teenagers necking in the woods. It was humiliating and sexier than it had right to be. Of course it made me wonder what it would be like to properly get him into bed.
Nowhere in those fantasies were him falling to his knees, declaring me a goddess, and then proceeding to worship me with his mouth.
And he is worshiping.
He kisses my pussy with the same thoroughness that he kissed my mouth, tongue, and lips, lavishing attention on every part of me. I love oral sex. I always have. But there are definitely some partners who treat going down on me like it’s either a chore or a task to check off their list. Rare, but no less frustrating, are the people so certain of their skill that they’re more focused on preening than they are on figuring out what I actually like.
Bowen doesn’t fall into either of these categories. I would say that he’s lost himself in the taste and feel of the experience, but when I look down, his dark eyes are searing into me. He is perfectly present. And yet somehow swept away at the same time.
I dig my fingers into his long hair and tilt my hips. He follows my urging with no hesitation, shifting up to my clit. “Soft vertical strokes, use the flat of your tongue,” I murmur.
He growls against my flesh and obeys. I was already teetering on the edge just from kissing him, and with his tongue moving against my clit, my legs start to shake. I bite my bottom lip. Holy fuck, that feels good. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come and end up in a boneless pile on the floor. Maybe a concussion, too.” I don’t know why I say it. I should just be able to ride this out and accept the orgasm, but the thought of him seeing me like that …
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I expect him to stop, or slow down, or maybe even speed up out of sheer arrogance. I should know better. Bowen’s power wraps around me, as gentle as a summer breeze. It loops under the leg I’m supporting myself on and around my waist, perfectly distributing its touch so nothing squeezes me too tightly as he lifts me. He rises to his feet easily. I shriek, but he ignores me. He walks us to the bed and lays me down with so much care that I almost orgasm on the spot. All the while, he never stops licking me.
It’s almost embarrassing how good it is. Which is the strangest thing to feel. There’s no shame or embarrassment in pleasure, but it’s been all of two minutes and my thighs are shaking and little tremors are working through my body as pleasure coils tight in my lower stomach. How the fuck is he doing this? The only other person who’s been able to make me come this fast is Lizzie and only because she can summon my literal blood to where she wills it.
He shifts against me and then two of his blunt fingers press to my entrance. He eases them inside me, obviously testing me. He’s not a small man, and two fingers is enough to stretch me almost uncomfortably. I love it. Especially when he curls his fingers against my inner wall, zeroing on the spot that makes what few thoughts I have left short out.
Then I look down my body and realize he’s not using his hands at all. His magic might be holding me spread out, but his palms are against my thighs.
Which means it’s his magic inside me.
“Bowen—”
The devil of a man finds the perfect rhythm, mirroring his tongue with his magical touch inside me, or maybe the other way around. It feels like the moment when a tsunami sucks all the water out to sea and you’re left standing there, knowing the wave is coming for you while also understanding that you’ll never be able to outrun it. I don’t want to outrun this wave. Even if it terrifies me.
“Don’t stop!” The looming orgasm might actually kill me, but what a way to go.
Bowen’s only response is to give another of those devastating growls that vibrates against my clit. That’s what sends me over the edge, except it’s not an edge at all; it’s a free fall with no end in sight. This isn’t a cute little orgasm that comes and goes between ragged exhales. This is world-ending. It swells and swells, bowing my back and turning my muscles to stone.
And still he doesn’t stop.
Not until a scream rips from my lips, an involuntary reaction that I barely have time to process before my whole body bears down and I squirt all over him. Only then does he change his pace. Bowen doesn’t withdraw his magic, though. He fucks me slowly with it, easing me down without depriving me. When he lifts his face to meet my shell-shocked gaze, the entire lower half of his face is soaked.
His attention tracks down my body as if noting every physical response to that orgasm. I’m shaking like a leaf, but the feeling of his magic inside of me is shifting from comfort to something darker and sexier.
I drag in a breath. “What are you doing to me?”
“Do you want me to stop?” He sounds just as devastated as I am.
I don’t know if that’s a comfort or not. One of us should be steering the ship, but instead we’re two drowning sailors, clinging to a piece of driftwood and hoping for the best. I want to laugh, but I don’t have the energy. “Refer back to my previous comment about smiting you if you stop.”