Page 81 of The Temporary Fiancée
His mouth finds the side of my throat, kissing down it slowly between words.
“I’m not doing it because I feel like I have to, Olivia. I’m doing it because you taste like fucking heaven, and I can’t get enough. I keep trying. Every time I think I’ve had my fill, all I want is more of you.”
Heat blooms low in my belly. He kisses me again, harder this time, and the rough way his mouth moves against mine makes me go warm. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. He drops his head and starts kissing his way down the side of my neck, his lips warm and unhurried against my throat, my collarbone, the soft skin at the top of my chest. He’s murmuringagainst me the whole way down in that low, wrecked voice he gets when he’s worked up.
“I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon. Sitting at my desk hard as a rock, trying to focus on Seattle leasing terms while all I could think about was the way you looked between my legs.”
His hands slide under the hem of my shirt and skim up my ribs, slow and possessive. He pulls the shirt up over my head and tosses it down the hallway, and his eyes drop to my chest with an unmistakable hunger before his mouth follows. He palms my breasts through my bra, his thumbs working over the lace until I’m arching into his hands, then tugs the cups down to free them. His mouth closes over one of my nipples in a slow, hot pull, and I let out a soft, helpless sound that I don’t quite recognize.
His hands drop to my waistband. He works the button open, drags the zipper down, and slides my pants down my legs in one slow movement, kneeling as he goes. He hooks his fingers into my panties next, peeling them off the same slow way, his mouth pressing kisses to the inside of my thigh as he works them down to my ankles. I step out of them clumsily, my knees already feeling unsteady.
He’s on his knees in front of me now, looking up. His hands settle on my hips, and he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss right against me before he even spreads me open. The warm, wet press of his mouth against my pussy makes me shiver, my hips twitching forward of their own accord.
“Look at you. Already so wet for me.”
He hooks one of my legs up over his shoulder, opening me up for him, and the first slow stroke of his tongue against my clit has me jerking against the wall. I plant a hand against it to steady myself. My other hand finds the back of his head, my fingers sinking into his hair. He licks me slow and steady at first, the flat of his tongue dragging warm and wet, then tightens his focus,drawing slow circles around my clit that make my thighs start to tremble.
He starts to alternate. Slow and steady, then faster, the rhythm shifting just when I think I’m finding my footing in it. My legs are shaking by the time he speeds up properly, my fingers tightening in his hair, and the pressure starts to build hot and fast at the base of my spine.
“You taste so fucking sweet. I could do this all night.”
I’m not going to last. I can feel the orgasm starting to climb, my breath coming in short little gasps, my hips pressing forward against his mouth.
Then he slows down. Long, lazy strokes. Almost no pressure on my clit. The build inside me sputters and starts to ebb, and a frustrated whimper slips out of me before I can stop it.
He lifts his head and looks up at me. His mouth is wet, his eyes dancing with mischief, and the slow smirk that pulls at his lips is so smug I almost want to slap it off him.
“Did you want something?”
“Reed.”
“This is me returning the favor, baby. For everything you did today.”
I let out a half-laugh, half-groan, my head dropping back against the wall. I can feel my cheeks burning.
“Including a certain phone call where you nearly killed me.”
“You volunteered to take that call.”
“You’re the one who told me to.”
He chuckles low against my thigh, and the warm vibration of it makes me shiver. I bite down on my bottom lip, caught between begging and laughing. I absolutely brought this on myself. The worst part is that I’m not even sorry, because the slow, deliberate way he’s drawing this out, the way he keeps looking up at me to gauge my reactions, the way he’s clearlyenjoying every second of torturing me—all of it is winding me up tighter than I’ve ever been.
“Reed, please.”
“Not yet.”
He goes back to teasing me, dragging me close again and then easing back, never quite giving me enough to tip over. By the time he finally lifts his mouth away entirely, I’m shaking against the wall, soaked, my veins buzzing with frustrated need.
He stands up and grips my hips, turning me to face the wall in one easy motion. His palm slides up between my shoulder blades, warm against my skin, and he applies a gentle pressure that has me bending forward.
“Hands on the wall. Bend over for me.”
I do, my palms flattening against the cool wall, my body folding forward until my back is bent at a steep angle. I’m exposed and open, and the cool air on my heated skin makes a fresh wave of want roll through me. I hear him drop back down to his knees behind me, and then his hands are on my ass, cupping and spreading me as his mouth finds a new angle.
He eats me like he’s starving. The sounds are obscene, wet and loud and hungry, and the soft pleased noises he keeps making against me are working me up almost more than his tongue is. His hands knead at my ass, his fingers digging in as he pulls me back into his mouth.
Then I feel his tongue start to drag higher. The warm, wet trail moves up between my cheeks, and a second before I register where he’s headed, I feel his tongue circle my asshole.
