Page 87 of Third Strike Smitten

He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t hesitate. He lowers his mouth to me like a man starved, and his tongue—oh, God, his tongue—is a fucking dream.

The first swipe is broad and flat, a claiming stroke that has my back arching off the bed. A broken, pleading sound I don’t recognize tears from my throat as he groans against me. “There she is,” he rasps, his breath hot on my skin. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

Fuck, his grasp on me alone could make me come. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so wanted, so hungered for, but so safe and protected at the same time.

He feasts on me. There is no other word for it. His tongue circles my clit with a precision that is absolutely fucking criminal. I fist my hands in the hotel comforter, my hips bucking against his face, but he holds me down easily, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Tell me what you want, Coach,” he demands against me, the vibration a direct shot to my core. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Someone’s… oh, God… someone’s eager,” I manage to pant out, though my voice is trembling and completely lacks its usual bite.

“That’s not what I asked.” He pulls back just far enough to look up at me, his mouth slick. “Say it.”

I’m trying to hold onto the banter, to the character of the girl who heckles him, but it’s a losing battle. My body is betraying me, singing a different tune entirely, and the only thing I can hold on to is Killian’s hair between my legs.

“Fuck me with that tongue, Killian. Show me how good you really are.”

He chuckles against me, the sound a dark, wicked vibration that sends another shockwave through my system. “That’s my good girl,” he says. “Just getting a read on the crowd.” And then he lowers his mouth back to me. His tongue is soft and warm against my pussy as he delves inside me. I swear to God I see tiny gold stars at the contact. “The reception seems…enthusiastic.”

I try to form a retort, something about his form or his technique, but all that comes out is a high, desperate whine. He’s relentless, his tongue working me with an expertise that feels both practiced and completely, utterly devoted to my pleasure.

“Oh, my God, Killian,” I cry out. “If your tongue is this good, please tell me your—” My words die in my throat as he sucks my clit into his mouth, his tongue working a relentless, circular torture that shatters every coherent thought.

“I’m not telling you another thing until this pussy is dripping all over my goddamn face.”

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

His words are a dark, filthy promise that shatters the last of my defenses. There is no more banter, there are no more clever retorts. There is only the raw, desperate need he’s unlocked in me, and the overwhelming certainty that he intends to keep his word. His mouth descends on me again, and this time, there is no playfulness, no teasing exploration. This is a focused, relentless assault designed for a single purpose.

My complete and total unraveling.

His tongue fucks into me with a rhythm that steals the air from my body, then flattens against my clit with a pressure so perfect, so exact, my vision blurs and I can’t focus on a single thing. I am a babbling, pleading, litany of broken sounds and half-formed words that are his name and prayers and curses all tangled together. My fingers are twisted so tightly in his dark hair I must be hurting him, but he only groans his approval against me, the vibration a direct line to my throbbing core.

“Killian,” I sob, my voice a broken thing I don’t recognize. “Please...”

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he doubles down, his grip on my thighs tightening as he holds me open, utterly exposed to his hungry gaze and his hungrier mouth. I am unraveling, coming apart at the seams under the relentless, worshipful attention of his tongue. The pressure builds, a frantic, screaming tension that threatens to break me.

Within seconds, my body tightens, a coil wound to its breaking point, and I cry out as I come apart, my release crashing over me in wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

“Killian! YES! Oh, fuck!”

He doesn’t let up. Not even when my thighs tremble, not even when my fingers twist in his hair hard enough to make him hiss. He groans against me again, the vibration sending aftershocks ricocheting through my bones. ”Fuck, Isla—you’re dripping all over my face like a goddamn dream. Look at you, taking what you want. Such a greedy little thing.”

His praise is gasoline on my internal fire. I’m still shuddering when he drags his mouth up my body, leaving a wet trail along my skin. His teeth scrape my hip, my ribs, my nipple, each bite branding me. ”That’s my girl,” he growls, voice rough as gravel.

I’m wrecked and absolutely boneless, but the second his weight settles between my thighs, primal need claws its way back. My nails dig into his shoulders, dragging him down. ”I want to feel them,” I rasp. ”Your cock. Those piercings. I want them splitting me open, stretching me. Fuck, Killian, I need you inside me right now.”

A shudder rolls through him. His hands are on me, frantic and worshipful all at once, his lips sucking my nipples again one after another, his hands kneading into my skin until there’s nothing between us but heat and want. He fumbles in his discarded jeans for a condom and I watch in awe as he slowly rolls it over his beautiful cock.

Before I can say a word, he’s moving back up my body, his weight settling between my thighs. He doesn’t push in. He just hovers there, close enough that I can feel the kiss of metal against my entrance, watching my face like he’s got all the time in the world.

“I think you have sixty-two seconds remaining, Haynesy. Those seconds start now.”

“Mmm.” His mouth drags up the side of my neck, unhurried. “Funny thing about that.” He rocks his hips forward just barely, just enough that the piercing catches against me and my body jolts. He pulls back. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”