Dropping her mouth to the closest nipple, she nuzzled around it, swiping her tongue and scraping her teeth against the flat little nub. He groaned, and his eyes drifted open as his hand slid onto her nape. Della glanced up to find him staring at her through slitted eyes. It would be easy to mistake those half-mast lids as sleepiness, but she could feel the heat and intensity of his gaze. “I like your nipples,” she said, her voice husky.

A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “Not as much as I like yours.”

“What? These?”

In one swift move, she’d slid a leg over his abdomen and hauled herself upright, straddling his hips, her panties pressed against his boxer briefs, her clit pressed against the hard length of his shaft. He groaned again, his hands moving automatically to her hips, holding her tight, his eyes going straight to her bra with the see-through panels and the wet patches he’d made.

She reefed the bra cups aside to expose her breasts, the fabric pushing them together nicely, making them seem larger. Tucker’s eyes widened considerably.

Definitely not sleepy.

“Fuck yes,” he muttered as his hands lifted to her breasts, his body following in a sigh-worthy sit up.

But Della refused to let him distract her anymore, let him take over. She was well and truly satisfied—it was his turn. She batted his hands away and pushed on his chest until he fell back against the mattress. Lowering her mouth to his nipples again, she treated him to some more of her tongue, stopping a while at each to play.

The way his body reacted to her teasing was like a shot of estrogen to her libido. The growing tension in his chest, the low rumbles of pleasure deep inside his throat, the way he buried his hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head. Knowing what she was doing was turning him on emboldened her further.

She started a slow rub. Her panties against his boxers. It was only slight, very subtle, but so damn good. Now…all she had to do was not come herself, and she might actually be able to give him some pleasure for a change.

It wasn’t long before his breathing was heavy and he was clutching the sheet in one hand, and man, it was a turn on. Della cranked it up a notch, her tongue sliding from his nipples in a downward direction. Down, down, down in a series of incursions moving lazily, inexorably south.

By the time her tongue was swiping low on his belly just above the band of his underwear, Della’s pulse was fluttering wildly at her wrists and her temples and her neck. She’d never been this close, and anticipation was making her mouth water, making her panties damper.