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The word tumbles from her lips—a plea for me to stop, a prayer for me to keep going.
Maybe both.
I know I should be doing one and not the other, but at this point, I can’t stop myself. We can’t stop this. It was inevitable the moment she drove up my mountain. We were on a collision course from day one. We just never realized it or pretended we didn’t see it coming.
It was stupid to believe I could ignore her siren song.
She called to me from the second her emerald eyes met mine as she tried to flee from me on that porch. And now she mewls in my hold, wanting more, needing it. I slip a finger inside her heat, and she clenches around me, tugging me even closer with one hand at my neck, rubbing her other along my length and making my balls tighten up and threaten to explode.
After thirty fucking years of not feeling a woman’s touch, my body is so primed that I’m liable to go off at any second in an incredibly embarrassing fashion.
Those lingering fears rush back, and somehow, I use them to tear my mouth from hers when all I want to do is kiss her endlessly. I take a step back, pulling my hand from between her legs, trying to catch my breath.
Her eyes fly open and meet mine, her mouth falling open on a gasped plea. “Where are you—What are you—”
Her fear that I might be ending this now consumes her gaze, but before she can give in to her growing panic, I grip the hem of her shorts, signaling my true intention.
She cants her hips, allowing me to slide the material down along with her thong and toss them over my shoulder, exposing her to me.
Sweet Christ.
Her pussy glistens with arousal in the soft light provided by the lamp on the table.
So wet.
So ready for me.
My mouth waters to taste her, to know if she’s as sweet there as she smells all the time. I want to drink it, drink her in until I’m drowning in the thing that brings her bliss.
Despite my cock screaming in agony against the zipper of my jeans, if I don’t slow things down, if I don’t take my time with her, I am going to look like an even bigger fucking idiot than I’m sure I will when I finally claim this woman fully.
Chapter Nine
CALLISTA
Every thick, corded muscle in Weston’s body trembles with his barely restrained hunger as he devours me with a gaze that promises what he’s about to do with his mouth.
That look alone steals my breath.
It comes out in a hot rush, and my hands shake as I run them through his silver hair, waiting for him to act. Silky strands flow between my fingers, and his rough, calloused palms roam up my bare thighs to my wet core.
He slips one finger inside me slowly, cautiously, almost like he’s afraid he might scare me off by acting too quickly or aggressively, but I’m too far gone to run. Too far into this to think about all the reasons it shouldn’t be happening. Too needy to say no when what my body wants is all of him.
I squeeze around him, and he issues a throaty growl of approval, then drops to his knees in front of me and buries his face between my legs.
Rough beard abrades my inner thighs a second before his hot tongue and lips are there, licking and sucking the sensitive flesh. My body twitches, and he reaches up with his free hand and pushes away the hem of my tank top, splaying his forearm out across my hip to keep me down and prone.
Completely at his mercy.
Spread out across the library table, on top of his books and papers that crinkle under me with each slight movement.
Weston doesn’t seem to care.
He toys with me. Running his wet tongue along my thighs. Through my core. Nipping and sucking at me. Slowly thrusting his finger without giving me the intense contact I really need.
The man is ruthless, taking what he wants—my submission—but not giving me what I need until I’m vibrating, my nails digging into the back of his head, hips grinding as much as his hold will allow.
He pulls his finger out and dips his tongue inside me for the first time. His rumbled groan of approval ripples through my body, and I arch under his forearm, trying to bow my hips and find more friction. Allow him to get even deeper.
