And we kiss like it’s the end of the world.
The air goes thick around us and time stops as our mouths slant, our tongues fuck, our throats moan and hum with a desperate urgency. Kennedy arches in my arms, her head tilting toward the ceiling when my lips traverse the pristine expanse of her throat.
“Brent . . .” She gasps, fingers running through my hair. “This is real. Tell me this is real.”
My eyes jerk up to hers and I cup her jaw in one hand. “It’s real. This is so real I can’t stop shaking.”
She searches my face . . . and then she smiles. Because she believes me.
And the emotions that swell in my chest, my feelings for her—they’re indescribable. It’s like . . . piss off Jack Dawson . . . I’m the king of the world now.
I slip one strap of Kennedy’s top down her arm, far enough to expose one pale, flawless breast. I bend my knees, pepper the soft mound with kisses, and close my lips over the hard, tight bud of her nipple. Her moan is deep and long with approval as I suck on that hard point. Worshiping it with my tongue, tracing, caressing, and flicking.
Without breaking contact, I wrap my arms around her hips and lift, carrying her to the bed. I lay her down, sucking and laving her with my mouth. She grips the back of my shirt and I release her nipple with a pop, lifting my arms so she can pull my shirt off. Her hands scorch their way across my torso, fingernails digging. One strap of her shirt gives way as I yank it down her body in a fast tug, leaving her bare from the waist up. My eyes roam and consume—so much pale, perfect flesh.
I kiss her stomach, licking and grazing with my teeth—working my way up. Kennedy arches and moans, her hands driving into my hair. The heat of our skin, our bare chests rubbing—it’s almost too much—and yet not even close to enough. Back at her mouth, I nip her plump bottom lip with my teeth, then cover both her lips with my own. Relishing the taste of her wet, sweet mouth, her soft, slick tongue . . . her whimpers and moans. Feeling my way blindly, the button on her jeans is released and with her help, I strip them off her legs—panties and all—leaving her bare.
The desperate need to look at her gives me the strength to rise up on my knees beside her on the bed, but my fingers never lose contact with her flesh. They trail up her rib cage, cupping her breasts, teasing those beautiful nipples, tracing her collarbone, skimming down her arms. My eyes are everywhere, memorizing each detail—the pink flush of flawless skin, the hint of rib bone, the soft indent of her pelvis, the smooth, immaculate canvas below—and best of all, the bare, plump lips of her glistening *.
My eyes threaten to close with a groan as the image is scored into my brain, but I force them open. I grasp Kennedy’s ankles and pull her around, spreading her legs for a better view. I groan again—long and low and guttural—as my hands rub, and my fingers dip inside her, making way for my mouth. I lie down on my stomach, my breath against her skin, my fingers opening the pink flesh.
“Christ, Kennedy, your * is so fucking pretty.”
She moans at my words.
“This is made to be kissed and licked and fucked all damn day—and night.”
I press my open mouth against her skin and she screams. My tongue searches, pierces—and now my eyes do roll closed. Because her taste is sweet and wet and hot. I could lose myself in her cunt. This could ruin me—because I don’t know how I’m going to function without thinking about these ripe, smooth lips. So soft, so fucking delicious. My mouth moves rough over her—inside her. My beard is scratching the tender skin on her thighs, probably leaving bright pink abrasions, and the thought turns me on even more.
My nose rubs her clit as I suck and flick my tongue in the paradise between her legs. And when I move up, when my tongue rubs against that swollen nub, Kennedy’s hips jerk, and she comes against my mouth—legs trembling—crying my name.
I barely pause to let her recover. I turn my head and suck on the skin of her thighs—definitely leaving a mark this time. I lick my way to the sensitive indentation just below her pelvic bone. She takes big, gulping breaths and pulls at my shoulders.
“Come up here.” She pants. “Kiss me, Brent.”
And I happily oblige.
Her hands caress my face with tender, loving touches. Then she pushes on my chest with surprising strength until I’m up on my knees. When I’m where she wants me, she yanks frantically at the button on my jeans. A frustrated grunt escapes her, making me grin.
But when she gets them open, my grin turns into an openmouthed groan. Because she doesn’t mess around—she pulls my pants down just low enough to free my hard, straining dick, and then she’s all over it. She lathers the shaft with her tongue and lips, wetting the delicate skin, sliding up to the tip and slipping the fucker all the way into her hot, wet mouth.
My hips jerk, and I have to brace my hand on her back to keep from falling over.