What he was doing, what he was about to do. My trust in him left me unworried, unhurried, without pressure, without expectation.
I barely recognized myself.
He was kneeling next to the couch, my body twisted. One thigh over his shoulder. His lips low on my belly. The other thigh over his other shoulder. My fingers slipped into his hair, gathering it out of the way so I could see him. The dark crescents of his lashes. His big tan hands wrapped high around my pale thighs, the tips of his fingers tightening, pressing into my flesh. His lips, so full as he kissed with aching slowness, the trace of his tongue where I couldn’t see. The reverence on his face as he licked a long line up the threshold of my body.
I sighed at the contact, the heat of his mouth setting the hot static in my chest skating across my skin. The sensation zipped and sizzled through me, licking at my awareness, which shrank to the point where his mouth latched to me.
I watched down the line of my body, my heaving breasts, my rolling stomach, my wild hips. His broad shoulders, his strong hands, his hot mouth and wicked tongue. His eyes opened, black as sin. And when they met mine, the hold I had on my body was lost.
The orgasm pulsed through me, seizing my heart, clenching my thighs, bucking my hips. But he held on, didn’t stop, not as every brush of his tongue sent electric bursts down my hamstrings, up my clenching core, through my hammering heart, across my tingling lips as they drew breath after painful, noisy breath.
I came down in languid waves, my hips still shifting, Tommy’s mouth still kissing, his eyes closed once more and his face touched with an expression I couldn’t name, one that slipped into my heart and squeezed. It was a mixture of reverence and adoration, of determination and sincerity. It was a look that was unselfish in its attention, as if giving me pleasure was his pleasure. That, in the space where he was nestled, he found satisfaction that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.
His lips slowed, his tongue trailing unhurried curves and sweeps that traced the topography of my flesh. My face tilted as I watched him, my limbs languished, my fingers slipping lazily through his hair. He didn’t stop until he was good and ready, and even then, he took his time kissing the inside of my thigh before looking up at me. His smile was sideways, but his eyes were dark with unslaked desire.
“C’mere,” I mumbled, reaching for his face, rising to meet him as he crawled up my body.
Our lips connected, the tang of my sex on his lips triggering a flex of my core. My arms threaded around his neck, and I leaned back to lay us down again. But he held back, kept space between our hips, wouldn’t rest the weight of his body on mine.
I bucked against his restraint, told him with my lips and tongue and hands that I didn’t want gentle. I didn’t want care.
I wanted him. All of him.
One hand held the back of his neck to keep him kissing me, and the other slipped over the curve of his shoulder and down his stomach, finding its way back into his pants.
He broke away with a hiss, his cock impossibly hard in my palm. “Ah,” he breathed, thrusting into my fist.
“You distracted me,” I said, my voice rough and quiet as I stroked him. “I wanted your cock in my mouth.”
A pump of his hips in a rolling wave, a sound deep in his throat that was more a growl than a groan. “You’ve said that in my dreams for a fucking month.”
All of my fears had been washed away with a sweep of his tongue and a heady orgasm, just as he’d intended. “Please?” I asked, looking up at his lips, my hands full of his cock.
The kiss he laid upon me was bruising, his hips flexing and rolling into my palms. Impatiently, I let him go to tug his pants and boxer briefs off the hard curve of his ass, the kiss not stopping as our blind hands freed him. Up the hem of his henley my fingers roamed, wanting his skin. Only then did he back away to kneel, knees planted in the couch as he reached over his shoulder and between his shoulder blades for a fistful of