His solemn eyes, framed by thick lashes, are open wide and trained on my face as his broad chest lifts and falls with each heavy breath.

“They have no fucking idea, do they?” My voice is barely a whisper.

He stills, the muscles along his torso going tight as he stares back at me. I don’t have to explain myself; he knows exactly what I mean, and he gives me the barest shake of the head, his throat working on a hard swallow.

No. No one sees him the way I do. Because he doesn’t let them. Content to stay in the shadows, provide support when needed, never demanding anything for himself. Until me.

I see Ethan Dexter; he shines for me. And I burn hotter than the sun when I’m in his orbit.

I take a deep breath, and the air feels hot and dry going down, I’m so needy for him. But this isn’t about me. Not right now.

My hand glides over his length, barely touching his silky skin. Even so, his whole body shivers, his expression pinching tight as though it’s both torture and ecstasy.

“No more thinking, Ethan. Show me how you want it.” I give the rounded tip of his cock a kiss, and it jumps against my lips. Eager, so unbelievably eager. My eyes stay on his. “I need you to show me.”

His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath, and then he reaches for me, his big hand spanning the back of my head. Long fingers twine in my hair, gathering it in his grasp. He holds me just tight enough that I feel it in my scalp. Hell, I feel it down my thighs.

They clench when he slowly guides my head back to his cock. Those serious eyes peer down at me. His voice is a low rumble. “Open.”

God.

My lips part, my breath coming in a soft pant. But he doesn’t shove himself in. No, he’s fucking deviant because he wraps his free hand around the wide base of his cock and slowly runs the fat, swollen crown over my upper lip.

The cool, metal ball runs along the seam of my lips, such a strong contrast to all that hot flesh, that a moan breaks from deep within me. Without bidding, I open wider, wanting him on my tongue.

His eyes burn into mine. “Give it a lick.”

And I do, a teasing flick along the tiny slit of his dick.

His nostrils flare. “More, Cherry. Lick it good and slow.”

“Like this?” I run the flat of my tongue around the crown, licking him up like he’s an ice cream cone.

Ethan bites his bottom lip, his lashes fluttering down, and manages to give me a nod. So I do it again, earning a moan from him.

“Oh, Jesus, Fi… Maybe…ah…God, Cherry, do whatever you want to me. I’m yours. I’m all yours.”

He’s sprawled back, his long body taking up all of the bed, one arm thrown over his forehead, his lip caught between his teeth as if in pain. He gazes down at me so full of lust and need, he seems almost helpless, this massive guy.

Mine.

Kissing the tip, I smile up at him, and then suck him deep.

He grunts loud and long, a garbled “unf” that tears from his throat as his back leaves the bed, almost dislodging him from my mouth. I wrap my fingers around his base, my free hand smoothing up and down his thigh, soothing as I work my tongue over his piercing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He fists the sheets, pulling them from the mattress, as his hips shift and twitch.

I smile around his cock. Soon.

Torturing Ethan tortures me as well. I’m so hot my thighs quiver and my nipples ache. I curl over him, my palms braced on his thick thighs. He’s so big and hard in my mouth, my jaw hurts. I don’t care. I could do this every day.

I take my time, explore every substantial, glorious inch of him, cup his heavy balls and gently roll them in my palm. Oh, but he loves that.

“Give them a tug,” he whispers, sounding desperate.

When I do, his whole body shudders.

“Fi, Fi, I’m gonna…” He licks his lips and gazes down at me as if he’s lost the power of speech.

Oh, but I know. I want him to come spectacularly. The power in his body moves under my touch. It’s heady. And when he comes with an agonized groan, giving himself fully over to me, I fall completely under his spell.

Chapter Fourteen

Dex

Fantasy and reality are never the same. I’ve fantasized about Fiona Mackenzie’s mouth sucking on my dick more times that I should admit. Never once did I get it right.

I didn’t want to recall those vague, fractured memories I had of the only other girl who’d performed that service for me those many years ago. They had no place being anywhere near the vicinity of Fi. So I’d only had my imagination to go on.

My imagination is a weak bitch compared to the reality of Fi’s warm, silken mouth, the way her delicate hands glide over me, stroking and petting as if my pleasure, my need, is all that matters.

It cuts me off at the knees. I want to fall at her feet and confess my undying devotion. If this is what a blowjob reduces me to, I can’t even think of what finally sinking into her sweet body will do. I’ll probably have a fucking aneurysm or something.

As it is, I’m panting as if I’ve run thirty drills in a row. Sweat slicks my skin, makes my jeans damp and clingy around my thighs. I want them off. Everything off. Nothing between us now.

Truth is, I’m a fucking mess. My hands are clumsy and shaking as I reach for Fi, haul her up my chest so I can kiss her. She comes willingly, her lips parting, her tongue tangling with mine. She tastes of me, of herself, of us.

That we’ve become an us has my fingers threading through her hair, holding on tight. My kiss has no skill now. Just need. “I need you bare. I need to touch you.”