Page 114 of Knight
"Everything," I whisper. "I want everything."
He smiles—slow, satisfied—and his mouth finds my throat. He kisses a path down my neck, across my collarbone, between my breasts. His tongue traces the curve of one, then the other, circling closer and closer to my nipple without quite touching it. My hands fist in the sheets, my hips shifting restlessly beneath him.
"Tell me," he says against my skin. "Use your words."
"I want—" I swallow hard. "Your mouth. On me."
"Where?"
"Romeo—"
"Tell me." His breath is hot against my breast. "Say it."
"On my—" I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "On my nipples. Please."
He doesn't make me ask again. His mouth closes over one nipple, hot and wet, and my back arches off the bed. His tongue swirls, his teeth graze, and the sensation shoots straight between my legs. I moan—loud, unguarded—and he groans in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.
"Oh god—" My hands fly to his hair, my fingers tangling in the dark waves. "Yes, like that. Don't stop."
He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, the same worship. His hand replaces his mouth on the first, rolling and pinching the wet nipple between his fingers, and I'm writhing beneath him now.
The ache between my legs is becoming unbearable, and I can feel how wet I am—my panties are soaked, my thighs pressing together seeking friction.
"Romeo." His name is a plea. "Please. I need—"
"What do you need?" He lifts his head, his lips swollen and glistening, and looks at me with those dark, knowing eyes. "Tell me exactly what you need."
"I need you to touch me." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them. "I need your fingers. Your mouth. I need—god, I need you to make me come."
His smile is slow and predatory, but there's tenderness there too. He presses a kiss to my sternum, then another to my ribs, then another lower still. His mouth trails down my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, and I feel each kiss like a brand. When he reaches the waistband of my panties, he pauses.
"These are in my way," he says, hooking his fingers under the lace.
"Then take them off."
He pulls them down slowly, inch by inch, pressing kisses to each new inch of skin he reveals. My hip bones. The crease of my thighs. The soft skin just above my mound. I lift my hips to help him, and he slides the panties down my legs and tosses them somewhere behind him.
He settles between my thighs, his shoulders pushing my legs wider, and I feel exposed in a way that goes beyond nakedness. He's looking at me—the most intimate part of me—and his expression isn't hunger or lust. It's reverence. It's worship. It's a man kneeling at an altar, and I'm the deity he's chosen to pray to.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, and his voice cracks on the last word. "Every inch of you."
I don't have time to respond before his mouth is on me. His tongue parts my folds, licking a long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit, and I cry out. The sound echoes off the bathroom walls, too loud, too raw, but I can't bring myself to care. His tongue circles my clit—once, twice—and then he sucks gently, and my vision blurs.
"Oh fuck—" My hands grip his hair tighter, my hips rolling against his face. "Your mouth is so—yes, right there, don't stop—"
He doesn't stop. His tongue works me with devastating precision, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks that have me shaking. He reads my body like a book—adjusting pressure and speed based on every gasp and moan, every twitch of my thighs. When he slides one finger inside me, I nearly come off the bed.
"You're so wet," he murmurs against me, and I feel the words as much as hear them. "So fucking wet for me."
"All for you," I breathe, and I mean it. "Only you."
He adds a second finger, curling them in a come-hither motion that presses against the spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. His mouth returns to my clit, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. I can feel the orgasm building—tight, coiled, ready to snap.
"Romeo—Romeo, I'm close—"
"I know." His fingers speed up, his tongue matching the rhythm. "Let go. I've got you."
And I do. The orgasm crashes through me like a wave, and I'm crying out his name, my thighs clamping around his head, my back arching off the bed. He works me through it, his fingers and mouth never stopping, drawing out every last tremor until I'm lying boneless and gasping on the sheets.
