Chapter 233: Orgasm
Her breath caught.
Another kiss. Lower. The cotton was warm from her skin. He could smell her through it—salt and musk and the faint sweetness of her arousal. His mouth traveled the length of her, pressing kisses to the fabric that covered her. Along her hip. The inside of her thigh. The very center of her where the cotton was already damp.
"Sean." Her voice was shaky. "What are you doing?"
"Worshiping you." He kissed her through the fabric again, right where she was most sensitive. "There’s a difference."
She whimpered.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants. He didn’t pull them down with his hands. Instead, he caught the edge of the fabric with his teeth and pulled. Slowly. Inch by inch. His eyes never left hers as he worked the pants down her hips, over the curve of her thighs, past her knees.
She lifted her hips to help him. Her breathing was ragged now, her chest flushed pink.
The pants came free. He tossed them aside with a turn of his head. Now she was bare before him—completely bare, her legs parted, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her inner thighs.
"Beautiful," he said.
She reached up. Unclasped the bra that had been hanging loose from her shoulders this whole time. Let it fall. Now she was wearing nothing but the necklace, nothing but the diamond he’d given her, nothing but the flush that spread from her cheeks to her chest.
"Come here," she said.
He rose over her. His mouth found her throat. His chest pressed against hers. The feeling of her bare skin against his was electric—warm and soft and real in a way that nothing else in his life had ever been.
His lips traveled down her body. The hollow of her throat. The swell of her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked, gently at first, then harder when she arched into him. Her fingers fisted in his hair. Her moan was low and desperate.
"Sean. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please—I need—"
He switched to the other breast. Same attention. Same result. Her back arched off the mattress, and she made a sound that was half gasp and half prayer.
Then he moved lower.
His mouth traced the plane of her stomach. The curve of her hip. The inside of her thigh, where her skin was softest and the scent of her was strongest. He kissed her there. Licked her there. Felt her tremble beneath his lips.
And then his mouth found her.
The first stroke of his tongue was slow and deliberate. Flat. Wide. He parted her folds and tasted her—the electric, intimate taste of her arousal flooding his senses. She cried out. Her hips bucked, but his hands were on her thighs, holding her steady, keeping her open for him.
He licked again. Slower. More precise. The tip of his tongue circled her clit, feather-light, barely grazing the sensitive nub. Her whole body jerked. Her hands fisted in the sheets.
"Oh god. Oh god, Sean—"
He stayed with that rhythm. Light circles. Gentle pressure. He read her body like a language he was fluent in—the way her breathing quickened when he applied more pressure, the way her hips rolled when he flicked his tongue just right, the way her inner thighs trembled when she was close.
She was close now.
"Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’m—Sean, I’m going to—"
He sucked her clit into his mouth.
She broke.
Her orgasm ripped through her—not the screaming kind from the penthouse, but something deeper, more intimate. A cry that was almost a sob. Her back arched, and her thighs clamped around his head, and her fingers twisted in his hair so hard it bordered on pain. He felt her release flood against his tongue, tasted the sudden rush of her, and he drank her down like she was the only thing that could quench his thirst.
When the tremors finally subsided, she was shaking. Actually shaking. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were glassy.
He rose over her. Kissed her mouth. She tasted herself on his lips and made a small, wondering sound.
Then she bit him.
Not hard. Just enough. Her teeth caught his lower lip and held, and the sensation—pleasure edged with the faintest hint of pain—sent a jolt straight to his cock. He groaned against her mouth, and she released him, and then she was kissing him fiercely, desperately, her tongue sliding against his with a hunger that matched his own.
He could feel her vibrating. The aftershocks of her orgasm were still rippling through her body, little tremors that made her fingers shake and her breath hitch. He kissed her through it. Held her through it.
Her hand traveled down his chest. Lower. Her fingers found the waistband of his pants—the only clothing he was still wearing—and slipped beneath.
She found him. Hard. Achingly hard. The touch of her fingers, light and curious, made him hiss against her mouth.
"Someone’s eager," she murmured, stealing his line.
"Fair point," he managed.
Her hand wrapped around him. Stroked. Slow. Deliberate. Her thumb traced the head of his cock, spreading the moisture that had gathered there. He groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
"Olivia."
"Lie back," she said.
He did.
She shifted on the bed, positioning herself between his legs. Her green eyes flicked up to meet his, and the look in them—loving, hungry, utterly without inhibition—made his heart stutter.
"I meant what I said," she told him. "I love you."
"I love you too."
She smiled. That real, involuntary smile he’d catalogued weeks ago. Then she lowered her head.
Her tongue traced the length of him. Base to tip. Slow. Deliberate. She licked the head, circling it with the tip of her tongue the way he’d circled her clit. His hips bucked involuntarily.
She took him into her mouth.
Wet heat enveloped him. Her lips stretched around his girth, and she took him deeper than he’d expected, her tongue pressing flat against the underside. The sensation was overwhelming—her mouth, her tongue, the small humming sound she made in the back of her throat.