He kissed a slow, wet path higher, his breath hot against my skin, driving me insane. He wasn't rushing. His hands came to rest on my hips, his grip firm, possessive, holding me in place as he continued his worship.
"You taste like… mine," he murmured against my skin, and the words, possessive and raw, shattered what little composure I had left.
"Ngh~" I gasped, my fingers flying to the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress like I was trying not to float off the damn planet.
The first touch of his tongue was exquisitely gentle, a question. My response was a choked cry, my hips bucking against his hold. That was all the answer he needed. The gentleness vanished, replaced by a hungry, knowing skill that sent my world tilting on its axis. He learned my body in seconds, memorizing the sounds I made, the way my thighs trembled, the exact pressure that made me gasp his name.
"That's it, little bird," he growled, his voice thick, his hands tightening on my hips. "Sing for me."
