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So polite, my Ian.
I grin lazily. “Have at it, Cupcake. I was promised an orgasm.”
“Thank fuck,” he grunts.
He doesn’t even bother to peel my underwear off, apparently too impatient for that; he hooks a finger under the elastic at the crease in my thigh, pulling it to the side and wasting no time sliding his hot tongue right through the crease of me.
“Oh God,” I moan.
“My name,” he practically growls, surprising me in the best way. “You say my name when I’m between your legs.”
“Ian,” I whine when he licks me again, humming against the most sensitive part of me before he swirls around the bud of my clit. “There,” I sigh. “Right there. That’s what I need.”
He flicks my clit again. “Here?”
“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth.
“Mm.”
He wraps his lips around my clit to suck, and the urge to prop up so I can watch is too strong to resist. His eyes peer up at me as he alternates between long pulls with his mouth and soft swirls of his tongue, watching the way it drives me crazy.
He’s making sounds I’ve never heard him make—soft grunts and chest-laden moans that I can feel on the most sensitive part of me, and I feel my thighs clenching against the softness of his dark red hair that tickles my skin. I can feel my mouth hanging open; I’m unable to look away from the sight of him between my legs but also physically incapable of forming coherent thought outside of Ian is between my fucking legs—and the way he laps at my pussy like he’s trying to consume me is enough to have me hurtling toward something mind-blowing.
“I-Ian,” I whimper, reaching down to card my fingers through his hair. “Right there. I’m going to fucking come.”
His eyes shut tight as his hand slides under his body, and I can see his shoulders trembling, feel them quivering against my thighs as a tortured groan leaves him. I let out a whine of protest when he suddenly releases me, his forehead resting on my hip as ragged breaths puff against my clit, almost enough to finish me off but not quite.
“What the fuck,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”
“Gonna come,” he grinds out, his arm moving beneath him, and I realize he’s squeezing himself to prevent it from happening. “Fuck, your sounds,” he rasps. “Your taste.” He shudders again. “You’re going to make me come.”
I like that. I really like that. Ian Chase being so into eating me out that he almost comes in his pants? Yeah. Suddenly not as outraged at being left hanging.
I tug on his shoulders until he painstakingly crawls back up my body, melding his mouth to mine. I can taste myself on his tongue, and that knowledge has me shuddering too.
“I want to come with you inside me,” I murmur. “Wanna feel that cock I’ve been dreaming about forever.”
“Jesus, Lila,” he groans. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”
“The French call an orgasm ‘the little death,’ ” I chuckle softly. “La petite mort.”
“Keep talking French, and I might still come.”
I grin as I lean into his ear, whispering, “Je veux que tu me baise, Ian”
“Fuck.”
His hands grip my waist as he licks and sucks at the sensitive place beneath my ear, and he blessedly lifts his hips just enough so that I can reach between us to fumble with the button of his jeans. Every soft scrape of his beard against my throat has me trembling, a condition that we seem to share, if the way he shivers when my hand delves inside his pants is any indication. He’s hard and so warm in my palm when I cup him through the soft cotton of his underwear, and I can’t help but give his cock a slow stroke that has him tensing against me.
“Je veux cette grosse queue,” I tell him softly.
He arches into my hand. “Tell me what it means.”
“I want this big cock,” I purr. “I was promised an orgasm, remember?”
I can practically hear him swallow, it’s so loud. “Do you have condoms?”
“Bedside table.”
