says in awe, and when I raise my head, I see him between my legs, staring at my pussy with the kind of eagerness that makes me feel like I’m about to be devoured. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that? Absolutely perfect. I think I might stare at you all day.”
I swallow hard, trying to think of something witty to say, but I’ve got nothing. I just want his face between my legs. I want to know what that strong, skilled tongue of his feels like there.
He grins at me, biting his lip. “You’re absolutely soaked. It’s beautiful.”
While he keeps eye contact with me, he slips his finger down over my clit, through the slick folds, and back up. My back arches, my clit screaming for more of that, more of him. “You’re beautiful. Just like this. Raw and drenched and begging for it. Are you begging for it?”
There’s the dirty talker I knew would be in him. “Yes,” I manage to say, the word choked.
“Tell me you’re begging for it. Tell me you want my tongue to lap you up, again and again, until you can’t take it anymore.”
I let out a frustrated groan in response. I don’t even know what he said, so I can’t repeat it, all I can think about is that finger, the calloused tip of it sliding back and forth, the sound filling the air, competing with the waves.
Jesus, I really am that wet, I think. I’m almost proud of myself, though I know it’s all Pascal’s doing.
“I’m going to give you what you want,” he says, moving back more and lowering his face until I can feel his breath on my pussy. “And then I’m going to give you more.”
He touches my clit with the tip of his tongue, and I shudder, my hands tightening in his hair. His tongue takes its time moving up along my clit and back down, just as achingly slow as his finger, but now he starts plunging his tongue deep inside me, fucking me that way.
Oh fuck.
My back arches again, and I raise my hips, trying to get more purchase, to get more of everything.
He continues to fuck me with his tongue, and it’s both amazing and not enough. I clench for more. I crave his cock. I want to be split open by him, I want him driven in deep, I want—
He moves his mouth up a few inches, and now I’m clenching without him there. His tongue and lips slide over my clit, and the feeling spurs a need in me so great that I cry out, “Oh fuck!”
He murmurs something against me, but I’m not sure what it is. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except my hands in his hair and his mouth on my clit, swirling and sucking and licking until, until . . .
“I’m going to come,” I say, though the words leave my mouth in a ragged cry.
I don’t even have time to think about what it’s going to be like, to prepare.
The pressure builds and builds, and then suddenly there’s an explosion, a balloon popping, stars of confetti bursting through the air.
“Oh, Pascal!” I cry out, screaming, bucking my hips up into his mouth until I fear I might break his jaw.
His tongue slows, and I come back down to earth, trying to remember where I am. It feels like I’m a bird, soaring far above the sea, higher and higher until I’m just floating down like a feather. I know where I am. On the beach with Pascal. My hands are grasping his hair so tight that it actually hurts to undo my fists.
“You know what you taste like?” he says to me, and when I lift my heavy head to look at him, he’s wiping my shiny desire from his lips and sliding his finger into his mouth. “You taste like something I’ve dreamed of but never had a word for. You taste like Gabrielle.”
I blink at him, at his words, at the sight of him enjoying my taste, his messy, mussed-up hair falling in his eyes, but that look is still the same, the one that’s both wild and full of wonder.
He gives me another wanton grin, and then he gets to his knees between my legs. His cock is practically bursting out of his boxer briefs, the darkened tip of it sticking out of the top of the waistband.
“Careful,” he warns playfully. “If you keep staring at my cock like that, I might just come right