Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(84)

Seeing my reaction, Luke moans and says my name again, biting along my collarbones and back down to my breasts. He’s relentless, sucking on one while pinching the other, and it’s enough to have me opening my legs to make more room for him, pushing my knees up around his sides.

He moves up to kiss me, tasting my top lip and then my bottom, pulling away just hard enough for it to sting. My lips tingle, and as he moves down along my throat and between my breasts to my ribs, I reach up to feel them, how warm and slightly swollen they are.

“I swear I’m progressive and not a caveman and, thanks to the women in my family, I’m probably the biggest feminist around, but f*ck, I like the way my soap smells on your skin.”

I laugh and run my fingers through his hair as he kisses down my stomach, whispering how good I taste, smell, feel. When he reaches my hip bone the instinct to stop him bubbles up in my chest but I can’t seem to say anything.

Luke hesitates, too, lingering there, sucking at the soft skin of my navel. I want this, and every particle in my body pushes against my skin in an attempt to move him lower. Lower.

Luke circles his tongue around my belly button and I rock my hips up, using my grip in his hair to guide him, to show him what I want.

His eyes fly to mine, wide and slightly unfocused. “Logan?” he asks.

I think about Luke trusting me enough to get on that surfboard and how sometimes we have to jump. I think about how he said he loves me.

I want to jump.

I nod and there’s a moment of understanding between us before he smiles. “I’ve thought about this more than is probably healthy.”

I feel my face heat. “I probably have, too.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe what’s happening. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Will you make a lot of noise, Dimples?”

“That’s a dollar,” I tell him, pinching his shoulder.

“My wallet is in my pants, take whatever you want.”

He doesn’t wait for anything else and my head falls back against the pillow, spine arched in anticipation as he moves down between my legs. His first touch is tentative: lips pressed against my pubic bone in several small kisses, and then lower, mouth soft and partially open, directly over my clit.

The air leaves my lungs and I cry out.

“Like that?” he says against me, after taking me into his mouth and sucking gently.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Again.”

He does it again, using his fingers to gently hold me open and suck on my clit, a little harder this time. It’s on the edge of being too much and not enough and I can barely breathe, can barely think of why I waited so long to let him do this.

He alternates between kisses and little licks, broad stripes of his tongue that have my hips lifting from the mattress, rocking up to meet him.

“God, yes,” I whimper. “I can’t . . . please . . .” I don’t even know what I’m asking but words bubble up in my throat. “Fuck, right there.”

I realize I’m tugging on his hair but when I try to ease up, he shakes his head, meeting my eyes a moment before sitting up on his knees.

“Don’t,” he says, panting. His cheeks are pink, neck flushed right down to his chest. His mouth is red and wet, and as my gaze flickers down his body, I see he’s touching himself. He gives his cock a few long, slow tugs as he looks at me, tongue flicking out to taste. “Don’t think. Don’t censor. You want more?”

I’m already nodding, lifting my lower legs to pull him back down.

He kisses my hip bones and then each knee before sliding my legs over his shoulders. “I want you to pull my hair,” he says. “I want you to scratch my back and f*ck my face and do whatever you want to me.”

“Okay,” I gasp, unable to process his words or look away as he leans in again, tongue swirling around my clit.

I have to remind myself to breathe as he pushes one finger inside me, in and out, before adding another. I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on the way it feels; on the sounds he’s making and the way they vibrate against me.

“I want to do everything to you,” he says, pulling his middle finger out and letting it trail lower, until it’s pushing against me, pressing gently.

I buck my hips, unable to articulate a thought beyond his name and how good this feels, how I don’t ever want him to stop. I’ve never done anything like this before and now it’s all I can think about, letting Luke have this part of me I’ve never shared with anyone else. He doesn’t move any further, just a constant pressure that leaves my thoughts in a tangle of static.

I move one of my hands from his hair and bring it to his face, down along his cheek to his mouth and where it’s moving against me. My skin is slick, slippery, and he moans as my fingers slide over it, back and forth alongside his tongue. I’ve never felt anything like it, so many sensations that I’m unable to tell where one starts and the others begin.

Luke whimpers against me and I catch sight of his shoulder moving, his arm flexing beneath him. The idea that he’s as worked up over this as I am, so far gone that he has to touch himself, sets tiny fireworks off along my skin. Heat travels up my spine and I’m not sure if he’s crying out or if it’s me but my orgasm is there, ripping through me red-hot and endless, arching my hips off the bed until I’m shaking, rocking against his mouth.