Having this gorgeous, sexy man’s tongue on my clit is one thing, but having him admit that he’s enjoying it, that he’s been fantasising about it, is the flick of the switch my body needs to go from enduring this to lapping it up. For whatever reason, it seems to get him off, and the idea of him using my body how he wants, burrowing his nose into my flesh and sucking on my clit and fucking me deeper and deeper with his fingers, is every bit as shameful as I imagined it would be and a million times hotter than I ever, ever dreamed.

There’s so much oral in my romance books. My favourite mafia men eat their women for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it seems. And I admit, I’ve tried to simulate it by myself a few times without knowing what I’m aiming for.

This is what I was aiming for. This—the wetness, the silky softness, the—oh my God, the roughness when he laps at me with the flat of his tongue, the precision when he uses the tip. It’s like Mother Nature created an all-natural orgasm provider and gave it the ten best settings it needed for totally ruining a woman.

I cannot believe fucking Joe never did this to me!

And I can believe even less that I’m having this strong a reaction to a man I barely know, let alone a man I don’t have any feelings for. I have never understood how women can jump into bed with random men and survive it, let alone get off on it. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve judged them for it.

But it seems the joke may be on me.

The strangest, best sensations are happening to my body. Heat is pricking me all over. Everywhere south of my belly button aches with a visceral, pulsing need. My nipples are so taut with arousal they feel like they’re going to snap off. The noises I’m making are zero per cent gleaned from Meg Ryan and a hundred per cent involuntary and possibly a good seventy per cent farmyard.

I am not a woman who has ever asked for what she wants in bed. I have no language, I have no confidence, I have no tricks to seduce a guy or manipulate an outcome.

But I do recall one thing Brendan promised me earlier.

That if I scream don’t stop, he’ll keep on going.

So I channel all this blind, crazy need, and I cast aside the tattered remnants of my inhibitions, and I claw at his hair with one hand, and I throw my head back as he hits the spot over and over and over like the fucking genius that he is.

And I shudder out my plea.

‘Please. Don’t stop. Please.’

CHAPTER 12

Brendan