With nothing more than a groan, he lowers his mouth between my legs, and licks a line straight down the middle of me.
Something inside me snaps, and his tongue is thrusting in and out of me, his teeth clenching around my clit and tugging. He repeats it over and over, eliciting another moan.
He thrusts his fingers between me again. “You taste so sweet.” His words sound tortured, drawn from the depths of his soul. “Give it to me. I want you to come for me, sweetness.”
His mouth replaces his hand, and something in the way he says the pet name, so low and intimate, something in the way his tongue pumps in and out of me as his palms press harder against my knees to keep me still, unravels me.
My legs tremble, and I cry out. He lifts his head to watch me as I come, my whole body shaking as warmth bathes me from head to toe and my back arches off the bed.
As I float back down, he feathers a kiss across my lips.
Because it seems like something I should say and because I am still lingering somewhere among the warmth and the stars, I say, “Thank you.”
Ian chuckles, his body vibrating against mine.
“Don’t thank me, sweetness,” he says, giving me an Eskimo kiss, nose-to-nose. “We have a lifetime to go, and at some point, I’m sure you will return the favor.”
Then he kisses me again.
28
Harlow
My eyes are slow to open, my head still groggy with sleep. The bed is soft, the sheets a cool silky smooth that’s so inviting. I snuggle in deeper, my heavy eyelids threatening to close again. I don’t hear Molly across the room softly breathing in her sleep or the radiator that clicks through the night. It’s too quiet.
I blink, staring up at the white vaulted ceiling. My mind is sluggish, every thought reluctant to surface.
Wait. That’s not my ceiling—it’s too large and too bright—and these aren’t my sheets.
Where am I?
I breathe in a sharp breath that hits the back of my throat like a punch.
“Good morning, sweetness.”
I snap my head toward the voice to find Ian smiling at me. His hair is tousled, black strands poking every which way in the perfect version of bed head. Stubble darkens his tan face, and he looks rugged with a healthy dash of hedonism. I exhale, slow and steady.
Ian lies beside me shirtless, his arms folded behind his head. Daylight filters in through the window on the opposite side of the room and bathes him in rays of soft gold. He’s sculpted by hours in the gym and on the field, his abs rigid, the indent in the center of his chest sprinkled with black hair. The ache between my legs pulses back to life as his smile wanes into a devilish grin.
“I’d offer you coffee,” he says, “but you’re looking at me like you want to skip to the main course.”
“Hmm. I don’t know,” I tease, biting back a smile. “What’s the main course?”
Ian runs an index finger down my clavicle and directly between my breasts, his face hovering over mine. He looks upward from the trail of his finger, and his gaze meets mine.
“Chef’s specialty,” he murmurs. “Hot, hard, and long.”
I blush, crimson running in splotches down my neck and chest. Ian Beckett should be granted an honorary degree in dirty talk. He lifts on his elbow and tilts over me.
“I want you,” he murmurs, his gray-eyed gaze swapping between my eyes and my lips. “I want to know your best dreams and your worst nightmares. I want to make love to you in my bed and then bend you over my couch and fuck you hard. I want to hear your best joke and your worst. I want all of you, Harlow, when you’re ready.”
“I…” I begin. What am I about to say? That I love him? That’s crazy, but then why does it feel like I’m lost at sea when I am away from him and at home when he’s near.
“Shh,” he says, pressing a finger against my lips. “You are here,” he taps my temple twice with his index finger and middle finger, “when you should be in here.” He taps my heart.
His lips seize mine, and the kiss is the opposite of his words, nothing about it gentle. It’s brutal and bruising, his lips colliding with mine so hard I feel my teeth knock inside my head. It’s hot and achy, and the beat that hibernates inside my veins pounds to life.
I wrap an arm around his bulging bicep and across the taunt muscles of his back and draw him closer. He doesn’t resist and allows himself to fall so that he cages me in, his forearms flat on either side of my face. He allows his bottom half to meet mine, his cock iron-hard against my leg.
He smells like himself but slightly different, a hint of sugar and flowers. I know it’s me, my scent mixing with his own, and the realization makes me ravenous.
I kiss him harder, my fingers tangling in his hair, as I arch up to meet him. Wetness pools between my legs, and I want him so bad it hurts to even think of pulling away. He is purely and potently male, and it calls to something primal inside me.
Being around him gives me a fix I never knew I needed. Only every time we take it further, I end up needing a higher dose. I’m going to have withdrawals if he leaves.
Deep in the recesses of my brain, something whispers to be entirely sure this time. I don’t want another regret, to feel like nothing more than a body used.
My nipples are rigid peaks in my lace bra. With every breath, they brush against the plank of his chest, and I love the friction. All whispers inside my brain cease. I scoot my ass a little until he presses
