She tastes spectacular.

So slick and soft and aroused.

I want to bury my face in her sweet pussy, but I want to take my time too, to savor every second of the unraveling of Nadia Harlowe.

She’s a delicious conundrum, and unwrapping her sexuality is the best gift I’ve ever received.

As I kiss her wetness, I groan, an electric charge zapping through me. My God, she’s incredible, and so damn responsive.

Writhing.

Moaning.

Sighing.

I want to imprint each sound she makes, every lift of her hips. My hands run along her thighs as I kiss her, letting her scent go to my head, flood all my senses. She tastes like longing, like lust, like that dreamy escape into a tropical garden.

It’s wild and heady, and I want so much more. But I need to pace myself with Nadia, so I press gentle, tender kisses to her pussy, my hands traveling up and down the soft skin of her thighs. When I flick my tongue across that delicious rise of her clit, she arches her back and unleashes a strangled oh God. Her hands fly to my head, her palms curling around my skull.

Oh yes, sweetheart. Grab my fucking face. Grab me hard.

I will happily spend hours devouring her pussy.

With a wicked grin, I listen to her cues, giving her more kisses, more flicks of my tongue, and long, lingering licks as I lap up all the flavors of her desire.

Sweet, salty, desperate.

She tastes like the woman I’ve been craving.

She ropes her fingers tighter into my hair as I press a little harder, kiss her more deeply.

My hands travel behind her legs, over her ass, curving over her flesh.

That sends her reeling. Her hips jerk, and her voice hits the ceiling in a long, loud “Yessssss.”

So my Nadia likes a little ass attention. I’m down with that. I’m definitely down with that.

As I worship at the altar of her clit, I grip her flesh, squeezing her cheeks harder.

“Please,” she murmurs.

Consider it done, sweetheart.

I knead her ass as I devour her wetness, kissing her harder, licking her faster, and squeezing this most fine ass as I go.

Hard as steel, my cock throbs in my boxer briefs. Hell, my dick is leaking, and I don’t fucking care, because she’s losing it. Arching and moaning. Crying out and rocking her hips.

It’s beautiful and wanton, the way she seeks her pleasure.

She’s so shameless.

So bold.

And I love that I’m the lucky recipient of all her desire.

All her want.

She spreads her legs wider, opening herself up, a debauched invitation to consume her flesh.

Why, yes, I will gladly accept.

I break contact for a second, raising my face. My mouth is covered in her slickness. “Fuck my face, sweetheart. Go wild on me,” I rasp.

She gazes down at me, her brown eyes glimmering with darkening desire. She parts her lips, licks them, then locks eyes with me. “I’ll fuck your face,” she whispers, saying that filthy word for the first time.

Letting go of her ass for a second, I run my hand up her body and brush a finger over her lips. “Your naughty mouth.”

She nips my finger. “Fuck me with your naughty mouth,” she murmurs, and I nearly die of being ridiculously turned on.

This woman. Her words. Her need.

She delivers.

I return my hands to her ass, my face to her pussy.

And we go wild.

She lets go, rocking and thrusting, having a field day. I’m her toy now, my tongue is her vibrator, and she’s using me fiercely, expertly, her hips arching up, up, up.

As my tongue goes flick, flick, flick.

As my hands grip her ass, digging in deeper, squeezing her.

“Yes, oh God, yes,” she moans, her fingers gripping my skull.

We work together to find her bliss. Hands, hips, mouth, tongue, and sweet, frenzied friction.

That’s what she needs.

That’s what I give her as she begs for release.

She cries out, a delirious, keening sound that’s half my name and half “Coming.”

And wholly hot as fuck.

She tenses, then shudders, her thighs squeezing my face as she comes on my tongue, my lips, my mouth.

I devour her climax, losing my mind at the taste of her release.

At her moans.

Her pants.

Her oh Gods as she comes down from the high.

When she lets out a soft laugh, I take it that she’s hit a wall, that she’s too sensitive. Letting go of her ass, I look up, meet her gaze, and smile like a happy fool.

Because, fuck, that’s what I am.

I’m so damn happy with her.

She’s blissed out, her hair wild, her smile gloriously filthy, and her cheeks flushed orgasm-pink.

“Hi,” she whispers.

My heart slams against my chest.

My cock thumps inside my jeans.

For the first time in a long time, the two organs are utterly in sync, working in tandem, and that’s terribly dangerous.

But it’s a risk I’m taking.

I need more of her.

Wiping a hand across my face, I crawl up her, brace myself on my palms above her, and meet her gaze. “Hi.”

A smile comes my way. “Which rule number was that? I can’t think.”

I wiggle a brow. “Rule number four, sweetheart. And it’s still in effect.”

“Right.” Her sex-drunk frown is adorable. “And rule number four says . . .”

“Rule number four,” I say, “says that I get to make you come.” I pause. “A lot.”

I push back onto my knees, then offer her a hand. She takes it, and I tug her up. “And now I’m going to take you to your bed, where I’m going to fuck you and make love to you,” I tell her.

She lets out a satisfied sigh, her lips twitching in a grin. “Thank God for the lucky corgi butts.”

In her bedroom, Nadia tugs on the hem of my shirt, her heated gaze drifting downward, checking out my clothes.

I’m still dressed. She’s half naked, which mostly works for me. That blouse needs to go. The bra too.

Stat.

“Do I get to undress you now?” she asks, playing with the fabric of my Henley, lifting it a few inches so her fingertips trail over my abs.

Her touch ignites goose bumps across my flesh. I want to feel those hands all over me, turning me on, making me crazy.

“Take it off. Take it all off.” I want everything off. Her clothes. Mine. I want to get naked and roll around with her all night long, arms and legs wrapped around each other. I want to feel her bare skin. Explore every inch, discover every reflex.

Laughing, she pulls the fabric over my head. “Don’t you want to admire my candlelit seduction, roses, and soft music?” She gestures to her bedroom as she tosses my shirt on the floor.

With a quick glance, I appraise her decor—no candles, no flowers, no tunes. Her bedroom is simple—a cranberry-red cover on her king-size bed and gobs and gobs of pillows.

“Woman, where is the seduction? How do you expect me to get turned on without rose petals all over the place?”

She spreads her palms over my chest, and I draw in a sharp, hot breath as sparks shoot through me.

Her touch is electric, and it short-circuits my brain.

“I don’t know. Are you turned on, Crosby?”

My eyes narrow as I rope a hand around her bare waist, jerking her against the ridge of my cock. “You tell me.”