Page 94 of Mile High Ruin

I glance up at her. She’s watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, hair scattered across the pillows, breasts rising quickly with every breath, and there’s something about seeing the usually composed Sloane Mercer this open beneath me that makes restraint feel almost cruel.

I finally lower my mouth to her.

The first slow pass of my tongue over her clit pulls a sharp cry from her, and her entire body reacts at once, thighs tightening around my shoulders while her hips lift instinctively toward my face.

I grip her more firmly and keep her where I want her.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

I don’t answer. I’m too busy tasting her.

She’s already wet enough that my tongue slides easily over her, and the knowledge that I caused even part of that does something dark and possessive to me. I circle her clit slowly at first, then flatten my tongue and lick her with more pressure when I feel the way her body responds.

Sloane’s hands leave the sheets and find my hair. Her fingers curl against my scalp.

I suck gently on her clit, and she shudders. The sound she makes is soft, almost broken, and I immediately want another one.

I slide one finger into her while keeping my mouth on her, feeling the tight warmth of her body close around me. Her hips jerk again, and when I add a second finger and curl them carefully, she gasps. I keep my eye on her while I keep sucking on her clit.

Her head has fallen back against the pillows. Her eyes are closed. Her lips are parted. The sight of her like this is almost as satisfying as touching her.

I keep the rhythm steady, using my fingers inside her while my tongue works over her clit, and the change in her becomes obvious within moments. Her breathing grows more rapid, her thighs begin trembling around me, and the grip she has in my hair tightens until the faint sting only adds to what is already building inside me.

“Vadim, I’m⁠—”

“I know.”

She makes an impatient sound at the interruption, but it breaks into a moan when I suck her clit more firmly and curl my fingers again.

Her orgasm hits hard. Her body arches off the mattress, and a cry tears out of her as her pussy clenches tightly around my fingers. I hold her through it, keeping my mouth on her until the trembling begins to ease and her hand moves from my hair to my shoulder in a weak attempt to push me away.

“Too much,” she whispers.

Only then do I stop. I kiss the inside of her thigh, then slowly work my way upward over her stomach, pausing at her ribs and breasts before reaching her mouth again.

She is flushed everywhere. Her chest is rising quickly, her lips are swollen from kissing, and when I cover her mouth with mine, she tastes herself on me and responds with a low, breathless sound that immediately makes my cock ache harder.

Her arms come around my neck. I settle partly beside her instead of directly over her because of the injury in my side, and she turns into me without being asked, pressing the warmth of her naked body against mine as the sheets twist around our legs.

For a little while, neither of us says anything.

I simply touch her.

My hands move slowly over her back, down along the curve of her waist, across her ass, then upward again until my palm closes over one breast and my thumb brushes her nipple.

She makes another soft sound and shifts closer.

I kiss the top of her shoulder. Then her neck. Then the warm hollow beneath her ear.

There is something unexpectedly intimate about this part, perhaps more intimate than what came before, because neither of us is rushing toward anything now. I realize with some discomfort that I could remain like this much longer than I normally tolerate closeness after sex.

Except we haven’t even had sex yet.

That realization sends another hard pulse through my cock.

Sloane notices. Her hand moves slowly down my stomach, and my muscles tighten beneath her touch. When her fingers reach the waistband of my trousers, I catch her wrist.

She looks at me. “What?”