That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(21)

“So wet,” he murmurs against my lips. “So sexy.” His tongue flicks across my mouth. “Open up for me.”

My lips part, and his tongue dives in; this time his kisses have a little bit more urgency to them, a deep need guiding our tongues together. His mouth and his fingers work in tandem, sliding in and out with such precision that my orgasm is already blooming, climbing from the tips of my toes past my shins to my knees, up my thighs . . .

“Oh God,” I moan just as he removes his fingers and slides down my body, his mouth tracing a path. For a few brief seconds—entirely too short—he pulls my nipples into his mouth but quickly moves farther down until he’s planted between my legs, his mouth hovering above me.

I try not to think about how my friend is about to go down on me, and instead I revel in the fact that he’s the man I’ve wanted for so long. This truth sings through my brain while he hikes my legs up and over his shoulders, and I relax, falling into the bliss of his touch.

He spreads me with his fingers and then lowers his mouth; the scruff of his jaw deliciously scrapes along my inner thigh as he brings himself to my center. He presses his tongue flat against me and very slowly drags it up only to return, repeating the movement.

I’ve never in my life felt anything like it before—the pressure, the rhythm, the possessiveness in his grip on my hips, the feel of his jaw, rough against my delicate thighs—it’s like he knows exactly how to push me higher and higher, and he’s pressing every button.

Tongue flat against my clit, he moves it back and forth, gliding rather than flicking, and it’s like he’s fully massaging me as he holds my hips in place. White-hot bursts of pleasure shoot through me with every twitch of his tongue, and before I know it, my orgasm is building up, coming from so deep inside of me that I can’t seem to feel anything from the waist down besides where he’s pressing his tongue.

Hands grip my bedding.

Chest shoots up.

Heart about to break my ribs from beating so fast.

A gasp.

A moan.

And then it hits me; pure pleasure rips through my body, tearing through every defense I’ve ever erected and exposing me, raw and real, for Reid to see.

Vulnerable.

High off of him.

And when he looks up, he sees it. He can see what he just did to me, how he tore me down and revealed the real me. Not the sassy Eve or the witty Eve or the Eve who’s constantly teasing him. No, he sees the down-to-earth, sometimes fragile, and completely genuine Eve. The same Eve he comforted at the cemetery.

Two times in one day. I very well might be lost to this man.

Pressing a kiss against my stomach, he works his way back up to my face, tenderly brushing his thumb over my cheek as he stares down at me.

I’m at a loss for words, unable to formulate any sort of response. I feel so beyond vulnerable that all I want to do is bury my head in his chest and avoid looking into those eyes, those comforting, endlessly sexy eyes.

“Hey,” he says quietly before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Are you okay?”

“Great.” I return his chaste kiss and then run my hand down his rock-hard body to his solid erection, which is lying flat against my leg.

In one smooth motion, he rotates us so he’s on his back, and I’m on top. Smiling, I slide down his body, letting his skin glide against mine until I reach his cock. I take in a deep breath and stare down at his length. It’s more than ready, aching for any sort of release, so I wrap my hand around the base and squeeze.

His eyes shut, and the veins in his neck pop as he tries to hold on to control. I squeeze again but this time move my hand up a few inches and then back down. His chest muscles contract, his hands search for something to hold on to, and when I lower my mouth down to the tip and flick my tongue across the head, his entire upper half lifts from the bed, and his hand is cupping my chin.

“Fuck, Eve, you can’t do that. I’ll come in seconds. And when that happens, I want to be deep inside of you.”

Desperation laces his face, and I know I want that just as much as he does. I want him to claim me, to possess me, to take everything I have to give and make it his.

So I roll to the side and pull out a box of condoms from my nightstand. He frowns at the stash and then looks back at me.

“How many—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” I press my finger to his lips. “This is just you and me.”

Still frowning, he eyes the box.

Ugh, men.

I soothingly rub my hand over his corded chest. “It’s been a while for me, if that makes you feel better, but I like to make sure I always have something on hand, just in case.”

Still not happy, he hops up from the bed and walks out to the bathroom. My stomach drops when I hear him pick up his jeans. Is he really leaving?

But then he comes back with a strip of condoms and rips one off, and my stomach returns to its rightful place.

He hops back on the bed and pushes the box away. “Those won’t fit me.”

Hmm . . . I guess they won’t.

“And I suggest you get rid of them because you won’t need them anymore.” He rolls the condom on and sweeps me onto my back, placing me beneath him again. My heart flutters, and I can’t contain the smile that’s lifting the corners of my mouth.

You won’t need them anymore.