Page 113 of Ricardo

And as I do, the pleasure begins to build again, slower this time. It’s a low, simmering heat, instead of a raging inferno, and it's every bit as intoxicating as it pours through my veins and fills every part of me.

Ricardo seems to sense the shift in me. He slows his movements even more, and each lick, each suck, each curl of his fingers is a deliberate, exquisite act of devotion.

He is still playing me, but I am no longer a fiddle. I am a cello, and he is a master cellist, coaxing a deep, resonant music from my body.

And I am making music with him.

Soft, breathy sounds that I didn't know I could make.

Little whimpers and moans that are no longer begging, but simply expressing the pleasure I am feeling.

He is making love to me with his mouth, and with every touch, every kiss, every lick, he is erasing the memory of a lifetime of bad sex and replacing it with something new.

Something beautiful. Something profound.

He pulls back slightly, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh.

"You taste like heaven, Julia," he murmurs. "I could do this all night."

My inner muscles clench around his fingers at the thought.

He chuckles, a low, husky sound that sends shivers down my spine.

"You like that idea, don't you?" he asks. "Me, between your legs, all night long."

I can only manage a weak nod, my hands clenching against my own skin.

"Don't worry," he says. "We have plenty of time for that. But for now..."

He leans in, and I brace myself for another one of those slow, maddening licks.

Instead, he closes his lips around my clit and sucks.

Hard.

And at the exact same moment, he curls his fingers inside me, hitting that magic spot again.

But this time, he doesn't stop.

He keeps sucking, and he keeps rubbing, and he builds the pleasure, higher and higher and higher, until it is a blinding, brilliant white light that consumes me.

The world explodes.

A cry is torn from my lips that is half pleasure, half pain. Primal and shocked.

My body bows into an arc, and for a long, endless moment, I am suspended in the white-hot bliss, weightless, timeless, free. I'm aware of nothing but the waves of pleasure crashing over me, one after the other, each one more intense than the last, and the feeling of his tongue lapping at me, drawing out every last drop of my orgasm.

The last thing I remember before my vision goes black is the smug, triumphant look on his face as I shatter around him.

Chapter Fourteen

Ricardo

Julia is sprawled on the blanket, a beautiful boneless mess. Her chest is heaving, her skin flushed a beautiful pink, and her eyes are closed, her long lashes casting dark shadows on her cheeks.

She is exquisite.

And she is mine.