7
I wake in a new eddy of pleasure. Wet and resonant and warm as a fever. The room is dark and he’s kissing me again.
But not on the lips.
I look down and feel rather than see a tangled nest of silky hair between my thighs.
Wrong. So wrong. My good girl hands curl into his hair with a thought to pull him up. But then his mouth finds the swollen bud hidden at the top of my mound. And instead of telling him to stop, my hips buck, not knowing what to do with the sudden bolts of pleasure now spiking through me. His hands curl around the tops of my thighs, holding me down as he continues to kiss me nasty, without a care to morals or all the reasons why I should not be letting him do such dirty things to me with his mouth.
“Holt…” I say when the pleasure is finally done with me. It’s meant
