Page 86 of Making Over Maris

“Yeah,” she said. “I had to oil up to get in it.”

“You look beautiful.” He cupped her breasts and worked the nipples with his tongue as she shimmied the suit down her torso. He grabbed it at her waist and peeled it all the way off and, oh yeah, she was naked.

That she’d been naked beneath the latex—all through dinner—made his cock stir again. The vibrator wasn’t helping. It was still working away in his ass in random combinations that disturbed his calm in a rather intriguing way.

And then something else disturbed his calm. Sara kicked off the last of the suit and spread her legs. Wide.

Ah. Heaven.

He came closer, drawn in by the glistening dew of her slit. But then he paused. Glanced up at her. “May I?”

She tipped her head to the side and a pleased expression flitted across her face. Contentment dribbled through him. She tugged him closer. “You absolutely may.”

He skated his palms up her slick, silky thighs and opened her with his thumbs. He dipped his head and drew in her scent. Lust skewered him.

Sara.

He tasted her, licking her with slow, soft strokes. He wanted to please her. Make her come. He wanted to give her what she’d given him.

He wanted to worship her.

So he did.

He took his time, exploring and teasing and laving at the dampness, the ambrosia seeping from her. She wriggled, tightening her muscles, his cue to proceed.

He found her clit and wrapped his tongue around it, his lips. He sucked and tugged and nibbled and nipped until she was cooing and squirming beneath his relentless ministrations.

Satisfaction, powerful, peaceful satisfaction coursed through his veins with every lap, every stroke. He was pleasing her. He could live like this. Spend every minute of his life with his head buried in her lap.

“Ah, Jack.” She fisted his hair and put her feet up on the couch and arched into him. This opened her. Opened her beautifully.

He slipped a finger in her. Two. He shuddered. God, she was wet. Dripping. He added a third.

She clenched around him, growled in her throat, demanded more.

So he gave it to her.

He ate her with a relentless fervor as he finger-fucked her, plunging deep inside and rooting around until he found…he found…

He found her.

She spasmed, wailed, clutched at his head with her thighs. She made a garbled noise that might have been, “Enough! Enough!” But he didn’t stop. He worked her, stroked her, tormented her as she had tormented him, plying her with bliss upon bliss until she was a boneless, panting mass on the couch. Until he had completed her.

Several times.

He crawled up beside her and pulled her into his arms and held her, stroked her, comforted her as she had with him.

And as she had with him, he gently thumbed away her tears.

She sighed. Whimpered. Gazed into his eyes.

God. He loved her. He was utterly lost.

“Did you like that, darling?” he asked. “Did I do a good job?”

“Oh, Jack. Yes. That was wonderful.”

“Good.” He kissed her nose. “So… Do you think I can take the vibrator out now?”