I had no idea this was possible.
This man devours me, kissing me like I’m the reason he woke up today.
Like I’m the reward at the end of every day.
My hands, my fingers, the things I do to myself at night are nothing compared to what he’s doing to me now.
The softness of his tongue, the caress of his lips, and the moans that fall from his mouth. The murmurs, the my Gods, and the deep, filthy masculine rumbles.
I’m his breakfast, his lunch, his dinner, and his dessert.
Hell, I’m his late-night snack right now, and he’s ravenous. I gaze down at the fantastic image between my legs, the sight in front of me.
His broad shoulders, his strong arms, that thick mess of hair.
This gorgeous man between my legs, kissing my pussy, worshipping my body, as he wraps those major league arms around my thighs, tugging me closer to his mouth, impossibly closer.
Bliss spins in me, adrenaline tripping through my veins.
My hands slide down my body, roaming over my breasts, my belly, then finding his hair once again. I thread my fingers through those locks, curling my hands over his head. “Is this okay?” I whisper.
He moans against me, lifting his face for a second, murmuring, “Yeah, do that. Grab me. Tug me against you. Fucking use me.”
Pleasure bursts inside me, a promise of what’s to come, a hint of what’s just over the horizon as he continues his relentless quest for my orgasm.
I can feel it, just out of reach, hovering on the other side. I want it desperately. I want everything with him.
He moans against my wetness, and I cry out as he takes me higher, pushes further, gives more.
His mouth is a one-man band, his tongue an instrument of pleasure, his lips making music as he plays me. Ecstasy throbs inside of me with every sweep of his tongue, every kiss of his lips, and every grip of his fingers into my hips.
“Oh God, I’m close, so close.”
And then I’m there.
I’m breaking apart, falling into pieces, coming undone in a constellation of pleasure, like starlight, like a supernova.
My cries are endless.
My orgasm ravages me.
My body quakes.
Aftershocks radiate inside me, pulses of lingering bliss, the remnants of the most fantastic climax in the universe.
Like the fading notes of a song, they spread to the tips of my fingers, to the ends of my hair.
Holden moves over me, bracing himself on strong arms, that tattoo on display. The stylized tree design is so artfully drawn, and I’m dying to know what it means to him.
But there are other topics to tackle first.
Especially since this night isn’t ending. It’s only beginning, and I want the rest of it. All of it.
He stares down at me with need flickering in his irises. He’s such a sight. His green eyes blaze with desire. His lips are hungry.
And the best part? The sexiest part is this—his hard cock pushing against my thigh.
A visceral reminder that I want him inside me.
That I need to tell him that he’ll be my first.
I lift my arms, my hands holding his face, where his jaw is still wet.
With me.
A tremble rushes through me. “Holden,” I begin, sounding all breathy and blissed out.
He shakes his head—in amazement, I think. “Reese, you’re incredible. Absolutely incredible. You’re so responsive.”
“Because of how you touch me. I think you’ve reduced me to a very primal level. I could barely speak.”
“Good. Speaking is overrated when there’s touch,” he says ironically, because the man loves to talk even as he touches me.
He dips his mouth to my face, whispering a kiss to my lips. Then a soft, satisfied “Hi” against my cheek.
But now isn’t the time to linger in the aftereffects. Drawing a breath, I push gently on his shoulders so he meets my gaze.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my lips a straight line.
“Of course,” he says, going serious, intense.
I picture myself in a volleyball game, prepping to serve.
No room for fear.
Just say it.
“That was the first time I’ve had an orgasm through oral.” That seems like a good way to start.
His grin is cocky, delighted. It’s a great look on his handsome face.
He’s damn pleased, but he’s pleased for me. Not because he’s going to thump his chest in victory. He’s happy to have done this for me.
“I want to give you every type of orgasm,” he says.
I shiver at the way he talks to me, filthy and full of adoration at the same time.
“I want all of them,” I continue. “And I want all of you.”
I slide my hand down his chest, over the hard planes of his abs, one straight shot for his cock, as if to make my point clear.
I grip his length, stroking it, thrilling at the feel of his dick twitching in my hand.
Wow. Just wow.
This is all-new too. And it’s hot as hell.
He gives a small sigh that’s chased by a carnal groan as I grip him harder.
I don’t want to stop touching him now that I’ve started. One second, and I’m addicted.
I squeeze the base, then slide my hand back up, savoring the velvet smoothness.
I’m no maestro of dick, no conductor of cock. But the feel of him, hard and thick, is extraordinary.
“I want you so much, beautiful.”
I smile, my heart tripping with a giddy kind of happiness as he gives me a term of endearment.
That’s why he’s the one I want to lose it to. But I need to finish the confession.
Will he turn away? Will he say no? Will I scare him?
“Holden, I’m—”
AC/DC blares.
I furrow my brow, drop his dick, and push up on my elbows as the opening notes of “Highway to Hell” blast from his phone.
He groans, a long, annoyed sigh of frustration.
“That’s the head of travel,” he says.
It takes me a few seconds to register his meaning as he rolls off me and grabs his phone from the nightstand.
“Hey, MJ. What’s up?”
There’s a pause, and his eyes close, his jaw ticks. “For real?”
Another pause.
I can’t make out what MJ is saying, but Holden gives a resigned sigh as he opens his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
My throat tightens, and so do my shoulders. All the yummy sensations inside me disappear, just like that.
With his phone still in his hand, he sinks deeper into the pillow, drags his other hand through his hair, then turns to face me. “Weather people predict a thunderstorm coming in the middle of the night in Texas. I was supposed to be on the morning flight, but apparently, that flight is canceled, so the head of travel just put me on a plane that leaves in an hour and twenty minutes.” He winces like he’s in pain. “I’m so sorry.”
Disappointment just might overwhelm me, but I take the news like a big girl. “I’m sorry that you have to go.” On so many levels. Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it.
He heaves another sigh, the most frustrated one yet.
Rolling out of bed, he reaches for his clothes on the floor, pulling on his boxer briefs. All my plans for the night speed away, tearing out the door without even a second glance.
This tryst is over. My heart feels like a bag of sand.