I drew a ragged breath, my lids fluttering closed, head lolling and thighs trembling. His tongue shifted, soft and hard, flat and firm, slow and fast.

Seconds. Seconds of his mouth on me, and my awareness sharpened, zinging across my skin. My heart thumped, every nerve in my body zeroing in on the place he was latched to me.

A hiss through my teeth. Fist in his hair. Thighs locked, hips flexed, core tight, tighter, squeezing nothing.

Seconds, that was all it took.

I came with a gasp and a cry, my body flexing for a long, suspended moment, and when it let go, it was with a burst of pleasure, a fluttering pulse of my core, my heart, my breath.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed, eased, but didn’t stop. The rhythm of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth tuned to the rhythm of my body, spurring the orgasm on when it would have fallen. Instead, it floated on, galloping through me, holding me captive.

It didn’t end until he willed it, his lips in the crease of my thigh, the bend of my hip. Up he moved, and I was too tired to hold myself up. But there was no room to lay—a hutch was at my back, potted plants everywhere but the space where my ass rested and elbows planted. Fern fronds tickled my shoulder blades. I hadn’t noticed it until just then.

His arm hooked around me, hauling me to sit with the sole intention of kissing me. I was boneless in his arms, at his mercy like a sacrificial lamb. And when he’d kissed me thoroughly, he broke away, smiling down at me.

“Jesus, Tess,” he breathed.

My cheeks flamed with embarrassment that I’d come like a rocket after a solid four seconds of contact with his devil mouth. Because surely those lips were a sin, and damn me to hell for wanting them like I did.

“I … it’s been a little while,” I admitted too hastily.

But he laughed. “Don’t bruise my ego, Tess—I just unlocked a life achievement.”

I frowned. “Making me come so fast?”

“Making you come at all.”

He kissed me before I could laugh. And before either of us decided on it, we were twisted together again, breaths noisy and bodies hard.

His especially. His impressive length found its way between my thighs again, this time with nothing but those goddamn basketball shorts between us. He wasn’t wearing underwear—I could feel the ridge of his head, thick and hard against the slick center of me.

He’d made good on his promise. And I had a feeling he’d do it again with the aid of the steel pipe in his pants.

Seemed I maybe owed him too, and I planned on making good on that.

Into his shorts my hands dove like a champion swimmer, sliding down the satiny skin of his shaft, the impossibly soft hardness of him in my palm heavy, thick. I’d known he was packing, but seeing was believing. Part of me didn’t know where he was going to put all that. The rest of me didn’t care.