Page 60 of Until You

“You like my mouth.”

“I do.” She says it simply, without deflection. Then she shifts, reversing herself over me, lowering herself to where I can reach her while she bends back down to me.

I grip her hips. Pull her where I want her. And the first taste of her pulls a groan from somewhere deep in my chest because God—I didn’t get to do this last time. I knew she was hot and slick, but she tastes like she belongs to me.

The way she responds to my tongue is like a live current. The sound she makes—low and broken and vibrating through every point of contact between us.

I work her with my mouth and my fingers, finding the rhythms that make her thighs shake, adjusting when she gasps, pressing harder when she grinds against me. She’s trying to keep working me at the same time, and the combination—her mouth on me, my mouth on her—is driving me toward an edge I have no intention of going over yet.

Her efforts slow. Stop. She pushes her core against my mouth, chasing her release, and I let her. I want her to take what she needs.

“Oh God. Oh—Cowboy—you’re going to make me⁠—”

I suck her clit into my mouth and curl two fingers inside her, and she shatters.

“Oliver!”

Her thighs clamp around my face, and she rides it out with a sound that I will hear in my sleep for the rest of my natural life.

She shifts off me, boneless and flushed. “I’m not great at doing two things at once, apparently.”

“You were perfect.” I pull her back up to face me. She’s trembling slightly, the aftershocks still moving through her, her chest flushed under all that beautiful ink.

Her eyes drop to where I’m still hard and aching. She traces one fingertip along the length of me, and I hiss.

She bites her lip. “Do you want me to⁠—”

“I want you to ride me.” I sit up. Then stop. “Condoms. Hold on… they’re still in the glove box of my⁠—”

She presses a hand against my chest and pushes me flat. “I’m already pregnant, Oliver.”

I stare at her.

She stares at me.

And then we both start laughing. The real kind—the kind that breaks through everything else, that fills the room and makes the bed shake, that feels like relief and absurdity and the simple, human comedy of two people who got here the long way around.

“Fair point,” I manage.

“And I’m clean. Before you ask.”

“Same.” I settle my hands on her hips. “I’ve never—” I pause. “Without. I’ve never done this without.”

Something shifts in her expression. Softens. “Neither have I.”

She rises up on her knees and positions me. Then she sinks down slowly—so slowly I can feel every inch, every degree of heat, every sweet, delicious detail—until I’m fully seated inside her with nothing between us.

I drop my head back against the pillow and stare at the ceiling.

“Give me a minute,” I say. “Because you feel... “ I don’t have the word. There isn’t one. “Cora.”

“That good or that bad?” she whispers.

“So fucking good. I’m trying really hard not to come right now.”

She’s still for a moment. Both of us are. Just breathing. Just feeling the full, unfiltered reality of each other.

Then she moves.