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“To be good at receiving?” I ask, my heart jumping like a frog in a frying pan. It’s so embarrassing that I have to ask.
“Whatever feels good to you.”
“That’s not helpful.”
He blows out a frustrated breath, the air caressing my skin. “If it feels good, say so. If you like something say, ‘give me more.’” He flashes a wicked grin. “If it feels so good you can’t form any words, tug on my hair.” His expression smooths into something more serious. “If you don’t like something, tell me to stop. Or smack my head.”
My eyes widen in horror. “I’m not going to smack you.”
His lips quirk at the corners. “Just give me some signals.” His eyebrows dip like he just had a revelation. “There’s no wrong way to enjoy yourself, Margot.”
That message finally sinks in. I stare into his eyes and only find the desire to please. “Fifteen minutes?”
“You’re not setting a timer, are you?” Both exasperation and humor color the question.
I turn my head and glance at the small digital clock on my nightstand. “Nine-fifteen.”
“You won’t be able to form the words nine-thirty once I get my mouth on you,” he mutters, clearly seeing this as a challenge.
A challenge I really want him to win. He’s so confident I’ll love his mouth exploring my most intimate places, I don’t want to disappoint him.
“Most importantly,” he says. “Don’t fake anything with me. I’d rather have you tell me something isn’t working for you, than have you lie.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
“Good girl.” He pushes himself up and leans over my body. “Now, come here and kiss me.”
I meet him halfway. Our lips fusing together for a few delicious seconds.
Then he reaches behind me and grabs a pillow. “Lift up for me.”
“What? Why?” I ask, even as I dig my heels into the bed and raise my hips.
He methodically pushes the pillow under me, adjusting it until it’s even under my hips. “It’ll be more comfortable for both of us.”
Heat from both embarrassment and desire licks over my skin as I lower myself to the pillow. The awestruck expression on his face—like he’s extremely pleased with what’s exposed to him—allows desire to drown out my discomfort.
He stretches out on his stomach and hooks his arms under my legs, dragging me closer.
The first brush of his tongue against my skin sends an electric jolt up my spine. I let out a moan of appreciation.
“Good girl.” His low, gravelly voice whispering words of praise sends another shiver of pleasure through me. Warm breath pulses against my skin. He dips his head and licks in slow, soft strokes that leave me squirming with desire.
“I…I like that,” I whisper in shaky, halting breaths.
He does it again. And again. Until I’m quivering all over. His fingers are firm but gentle as he brushes against my skin and peels my lips apart. A hot flush of shyness travels over my skin. I’ve never felt so exposed or vulnerable.
Then he moves higher, circling my clit with his tongue, taking his time, applying the lightest of pressure. My mind crackles with how damn good it feels.
Was Daniel the problem all along? He went at my lady bits like a sloppy dog trying to launch a tennis ball with his tongue. No matter how many times I asked him to slow down or use a lighter touch, he always reverted to an eager puppy slurp during his five minutes of giving oral.
Jigsaw doesn’t need guidance. And he seems to have infinite patience. He’s slow and gentle, only increasing pressure or speed in response to my movements or the sounds spilling from my lips.
He’s vocal too, like he’s really, really enjoying himself. Not treating it as a chore to finish so he can move on to the main event. He’s definitely not acting like he’s counting to three hundred using the one-Mississippi method in his head, either.
He lifts his head and desire hits me in waves at the sight of his glossy lips and intense stare. “How do you feel about this now? Need a time check?” he asks with a cocky gleam in his eyes.
Time? I couldn’t take my eyes off of him if my life depended on it.
