My legs tremble beneath me as I make my way to him. I reach him in three steps and lift the hem of his shirt over my head before dropping it to the floor.
His warm hands encircle my rib cage as he pulls me onto his lap.
“Gavin,” I whisper, but his name is lost in our kiss. His lower lip teases my mouth, brushing gently against me before his tongue thrusts violently into me. My hands tug at his shirt as I lower my hips onto his. I need skin. I need him. I need more. Always more.
We pull apart only long enough for his shirt to pass between us and then are drawn back together like uncontrollable magnets. My hands run greedily over his ink-covered muscles.
“I love the way you taste, baby. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head, haven’t been able to cure the craving since our little road trip.”
His words come out laced with desperation and bare honesty. I smile against him as they fall into my mouth.
“How do I taste, Gavin?”
“Like forbidden fruit I’ll never be able to get enough of.” I bite his lower lip and he growls. “You can bite me as hard as you want to. I like for it to hurt.”
“Me, too,” I whisper against his lips. “The way you grabbed me outside the warehouse made me so hot I’ve had to touch myself every time I thought of it.”
A deep, tortured moan escapes his throat and I drink it in.
“Show me. Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”
“I will,” I say standing, using all the self-control I have to pull away from his hands. “But I want to taste you first.”
His eyes widen as I drop to my knees before him.
“Dixie, you don’t have—”
“I want to. Let me, Gavin.” I’ve wanted to do this since our road trip. “Let me.” I wait eagerly, looking up at him as confusion and lust mingle in his eyes and lower his brow. “Please? Pretty please?” I thrust my lip out in a pout and reach for his zipper.
He shakes his head and assists me with opening his jeans. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”
I lick my lips in anticipation. My heart pounds harder at the sight of his erection springing free in front of me. We work together re moving his Calvin Klein boxer briefs and jeans from his hips and down his legs.
He’s big, which I assumed he would be after feeling his arousal against me the other night. But he’s thicker than I expected. It’s going to hurt going in and I can hardly wait. Part of me, a part in the southern region mostly, wants to climb back onto him and let him fill me. But I know I need to pace myself. This is our one night. I want everything. Want him everywhere. I want this night imprinted in our skin like our tattoos.
My fingers slide up his inner thighs and I stare at them as if they belong to someone else.
“Baby. Wait. You don’t have to do this. Have you ever—”
“No. I haven’t. You’re the first,” I say before I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
Tasting him is perfect oblivion. I close my eyes and my mind explodes in blues and blacks. The world around us disappears and we exist in nothingness. Just him and me.
His hands thread my hair and pull enough to hurt. It adds red to the blue and black swirling behind my eyes. I want more.
Licking up the underneath makes him squirm, sucking the tip makes him moan, and hollowing my cheeks to pull his full length to the back of my throat tears a sound from him I want to hear every day for the rest of my life.
Having this power, this kind of control of him, rattling the calm that seems to never leave him, makes me slick and needy between my legs. His warm arousal is sweet with a salty tang and I know I’m the one who’s going to have an incurable craving from now on. I’m throbbing so hard it’s tempting to touch myself, even if just to apply pressure for some relief. But I don’t because the aching for him is necessary, delicious torture.
“Christ. Enough,” he growls when I shove him hard to the back of my throat.