Page 106 of The Sweetest Return

My hand moved beneath the sheet before I fully decided to let it.

Just to my stomach at first.

Just enough to feel the warmth gathering there.

“You woke up moaning,” he said, voice lower now. “Didn’t even open your eyes right away. Just made that little sound and arched into my mouth.”

“I did not.”

“You did. Then you opened your eyes and looked down at me like you were shocked I had your nipple in my mouth.”

“I was shocked.”

“You fed it to me anyway.”

Shit.

I sure did.

His mouth had felt amazing.

Warm and wet, his tongue flicking over my nipple until bright little sparks of pleasure started gathering beneath my skin. Then his lips closed around me, full and soft and greedy, pulling me deeper into the sensation until sleep loosened its hold and want took over. I remembered opening my eyes slowly, confused for half a second, then seeing Dre’s head at my breast, one big hand spread over my waist, his body warm beside mine like waking me up with his mouth was the most natural thing in the world.

And God help me, it had felt natural.

I hadn’t told him to stop.

I had reached for him.

My fingers had gone straight to his close-cut hair, holding him there while my back arched off the mattress. I remembered feeding him more of me, first the breast already wet from his mouth, then the other one because my whole body had woken up selfish and aching. He’d groaned like I was giving him something precious, and that sound had gone straight between my thighs.

My fingers slid lower beneath the sheet now.

“You remember that?” I whispered.

“I remember your nipples getting wet from my mouth,” he said. “Remember how sensitive they were. How you started moving under the sheet before I even touched your pussy.”

I stopped pretending.

My fingers slipped between my thighs, past the neat little thatch of hair above my pussy, lower where I kept myself waxed smooth because I liked how sensitive it made everything. My manicure brushed over skin already swollen with wanting. Dewy slickness gathered against my fingertips, warm and messy and embarrassing only because Dre wasn’t touching me and still had me this wet.

Of course I was wet.

This was what his voice did when it found the parts of me memory had not protected.

“That was one of my favorite mornings,” he said.

“Because of my breasts?”

“Because you woke up soft.”

My fingers stilled.

“Soft?”

“Yeah. No thinking yet. No arguing. No acting like you had something to prove before your feet hit the floor. You just woke up wanting me.”

My throat tightened.