Page 228 of What We Bury

She smiles against me, wicked and pleased with herself, then she puts her small hands around me—both of them, and even with two she can’t make a full circle—and lowers her mouth over the head.

Her tongue swirls. My head goes back. I groan.

She works me slow, careful, learning the shape of me with her mouth and her hands together. She can only take a fraction of me past her lips before her jaw is straining. Her lashes flutter and she pulls off me with a wet sound, breathing hard.

“I have an idea,” she gasps.

Then her hand slips between her thighs.

I watch, transfixed, as she drags her fingers through the mess I made of her, gathers the slick there, and strokes it over me from root to tip.

“Thought this might help,” she murmurs, voice shy and filthy all at once.

It helps.

Fuck, it helps.

My whole body locks. My hips jerk before I can stop them, and she laughs softly—pleased, emboldened—then does it again, slow this time, spreading herself over me like she’s learning exactly how I fit in her hand.

“Fury.” My voice comes out wrecked. “You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before you get started.”

“That bad?”

“That good.”

Her smile goes molten. She braces one hand on my thigh and works the other over me, using her spit and her slick to coat my shaft.

She leans down again and takes the head of me into her mouth while her hands stroke lower, and the combination nearly rips a sound out of me loud enough to shake the windows.

“Fuck.”

She hums around me, pleased, and the vibration goes straight through my spine. I fist the sheets instead of her hair. Every instinct in me wants to guide her, to take over, to fuck up into that hot little mouth and see how much she can take, but this isn’t about that. It’s about letting her learn me at her own pace.

I breathe through my nose. Try to keep my voice steady.

“Good girl. Just like that.”

Her lashes lift. She looks up at me while she strokes me, mouth still working the head, and it’s so obscene and sweet and fucking earnest that my control slips another inch.

“Christ, Fury.” I reach down and brush her hair back from her face. “You’re killing me.”

She pulls off me long enough to grin. “I thought that was usually your job.”

A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. “Brat.”

“Mm.” She kisses the tip again. “You like me.”

“I more than like you.”

She smiles and lowers her mouth over me again.

This time she’s bolder.

One hand grips the base where her mouth can’t reach, the other slides higher, twisting lightly in a way that makes me lose my mind. She takes me as deep as she can, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening along the underside of my crown, and I have to bite back a curse because she’s not polished—she’s better. She’s eager. Present. Every movement saystell me what you like and I’ll learn it.

My thighs tense.

“Fuck, Fury. That’s it.”