Page 61 of The Vixen

I grip the top of the headboard, panties still in my grasp, and shift my knees just an inch so my most vulnerable self is over Sawyer’s mouth.

“Stick your tongue out.” My tone is far more forceful than it should be. As if I’mangryinstead of trembling with desire.

I’ve had dreams about this. I’ve had to change panties because of these thoughts.

My mouth falls open with a gasp as something dense and delicious dips into my opening. I hang my head, core clenching as Sawyer runs his tongue from my hole to my clit. It happens so suddenly that a whine vibrates my chest before I can stop it—so pathetic it’s as if I’ve spent a lifetime starved of touch.

Sawyer has ruined me.

“I didn’t saylick, slave. I saidstick your tongue out.”

My grip on the metal headboard slips on sweat as Sawyer stares up at me deviously. His head tips back as he extends his tongue for me, more daring than obedient. Asking for it.

Ha.

Delusional.

Ha.

I don’t care.

My eyes close as I lower my clit to his mouth, the contact making my stomach suck in. His tongue—wet, hot, dense—flattens against me as I roll my hips. Once. Just a start.

“Don’t move.” My voice shakes. I almost add aplease.

Another thrust, this one deeper than the first. My clit grinds a path along Sawyer’s tongue.

I tighten my grip on the metal bar as I start to move.Gently, slowly,with arhythm timid butsavoring. Delectable. Perfect. Every shift is a tingle traveling the length of my spine, a squeeze deep in my core.

I feel myself clench at the edge of his tongue, as if my body is trying to grip him. To take more. And more.

I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.

The roll of my hips quickens as I moan.

Then quickens again as my head falls back.

Within a minute, my rhythm shortens to tiny, quick pulses against Sawyer’s tongue.

“Yes!” I cry,viciously.“Just like that.”

The headboard vibrates as he jerks his wrists, his shoulders subtly twisting beneath me. I don’t know if he’s asking me to free him, but the answer is no. Absolutely not.

My teeth slam shut as a groan rumbles in my throat. My hips grind hard and slow as phantom hands trace down my back and tingles spread on the nape of my neck.

His voice:Tell me you want me.

Yes.

Yes.

“Iwantyou,” I say, as if he really asked. As if he cares.

I’m close.

“Oh God!” My grip slips from the headboard. I wipe sweat across my breasts and gasp as my palm catches over my nipple—neglected, aching, the sensation snapping through me. I pinch each peak between my fingers. The tight pull makes my breath hitch as I bite down hard on my lip. My weight settles on Sawyer’s face as I fuck it.

It occurs to me in a panicked, slapping realization that he might not be able to breathe.