Page 59 of Juniper Unraveling

Papa already announced that he’ll be home early to make my birthday supper.

“Do you have a gift for me?” I stroke my finger along the edge of his hairline, above his ear, and his lips still against my skin. “I just want to go a little further. Just a little, I promise. That’s all I want.”

Lifting his head from mine, Six stares down at me with a serious expression, one that doesn’t wane when he pushes up from the bed until straddling my thighs, allowing the sheet to fall away from us. In nothing but a T-shirt and panties, I lie before him, watching him as his finger drifts down the front of my shirt, over my belly to the hem.

I roll my head to the side to see more of him, and to wait for what comes next.

Hands gripping either side of my waist, he dips his head and the first blast of warm breath scatters across my skin as he lifts my shirt. Higher and higher, it glides up my belly, and he feathers a kiss across my navel, glancing up as if to ask for permission.

Licking my lips, I nod and run my hand over the top of his head, letting the short spikes of hair dance across my palm.

He plants another kiss, low, just above my panties, before the fabric glides down, over my hips, my thighs, and when they reach my ankles, he slowly slides them off. Eyes riveted at where he removed them from, he pushes my knees apart, like the wings of a butterfly, spreading me open for him.

In the moon’s light, I’m completely exposed, and I stare down my body, as he settles himself between my thighs.

A tremor of nervous energy hits my stomach for some reason. I trust Six, but I feel on display. Exposed. Every flaw, every insecurity laid out across the white sheets below me.

I want to push him away, tell him to stop, and as the nervous vibration heightens in my belly, I open my mouth to do just that.

At the first touch of his lips, though, I suck in a sharp inhale.

His hot breath fans my flesh, and the desire to close my legs pulls deep inside my stomach.

Oh, God.

His big hands grip the backs of my thighs, keeping my legs held apart, and I watch as his eyes shutter.

A soft wet glide of his tongue follows.

My chest leads a sharp arch of my body, mouth gaping as he drags his tongue over the slit. Up and down, up and down, painting me enraptured with this delicious invasion.

I open my mouth to a silent scream, lifting my head just enough to catch the crown of his head, which dips with each dizzying stroke of his tongue. Like an artist, focused and savoring his work. His lips close over my flesh, and he sucks.

I slam my head into the pillow, and cover my face with it to muffle the outcry that erupts from my mouth. I’ve never felt anything like this before. A knot in the pit of my stomach coils tight, begging me to feel shame for what he’s doing to me. It tells me that this is wrong, that a man’s lips and tongue don’t belong there, that they shouldn’t bring so much pleasure that it physically leaves an ache and an intense craving for more.

My knees tremble with the urge to clamp together, to force him out of that sacred and dirty place.

I can’t. Oh, God, I can’t. It feels too good. So good, I have to stifle the urge to cry.

The way he feasts on me like a ripened fruit, sucking the juices from me.

Keeping the pillow in place, I moan and writhe with the wonderful commotion I can’t see happening below. Something probes lower, and when it pushes up inside of me, I arch up again, whimpering into the pillow. In and out, in and out. Up and down. Head rolling against the mattress, I try to focus on one sensation at a time, but they collide, wickedly stirring inside of my body. Until I’m dizzy, drunk on the feel of whatever he’s doing.

I lift the pillow to see his bicep flexing in time to the slide of what I surmise is his finger inside of me. It curves higher, and I grip tight to the pillow, smashing it into my face again. I slide my toes across his back, digging them into his skin.

As he licks and sucks me, his finger pumps into me, all these sensations working in perfect tandem, like a machine.

His hand—the same hand that threw those vicious Ragers from the vehicle, the same that snapped the snake on instinct—digs into my thigh with his reverent suckling, his palm gently stroking my skin.

A growl rumbles in his chest, a sound I love when he kisses me. A sound that tells me he’s wild, feral, and desperate to have me. His mouth is hungry and eager against me.

I can’t take it anymore. Something brews deep in my belly. I don’t know what it is, but it consumes my attention and winds my muscles tighter and tighter. I throw away the pillow and grip the sheets at either side, bracing myself for whatever it is.

He lifts up onto his knees, wrapping my thighs over his shoulders and palms my bottom, holding me to his face. I feel small and fragile around him, like a ragdoll he could easily manipulate any way he wanted. His tongue glides across my slit, and he sucks like he’s drinking the evidence of my arousal, moaning into my folds.

The first twinge of something strikes my muscles. The tightness from before coils in my belly, tugging at my chest. Tighter and tighter, it knots, my muscles trembling against his shoulders. I curl my toes and white-knuckle the sheets below me.

Part of me wishes to fight against it. To hold on. But the other part of me wants to surrender to it and let go.