Her lips disappeared, but her breath puffed against mine, a noisy pant that I matched as she tugged my belt loose with a jingle. The vibration of my zipper zinged against my cock, and once freed, the silken warmth of her hand wrapped itself around me, stroking as if her fingertips wanted a taste strictly for their own pleasure. Blindly, I reached for her face, cupped her jaw, found her nose with mine, then her lips for a kiss. But her hands didn’t stop their slow path up my shaft, cupping my crown before sliding down once more. Her fingers fanned each time they finished the circuit, brushing my sack with gentle authority.

My fingers slipped into her hair and tightened, tugging to tilt her face, to moan around her tongue, into her mouth, down her throat. But still, she didn’t stop. My feet were planted, knees locked—if they hadn’t been, I feared they would have buckled. Her mouth moved in time with her fist and fingers, drawing that feeling from deep in my belly, from low in my base.

Again, her mouth disappeared, this time with the lowering of her body too fast to be considered anything but desperate. As if she needed me, every inch of me, for herself. A tug of my pants, and they slid down my thighs, one hand still clutching my shaft, angling it toward her lips—I could feel her breath against my crown, a pulse of desire flexing through me at the sensation. Anticipation was thick, my hands smoothing her hair, sweeping it over her shoulder, gathering it in my fist to keep it out of the way. Without sight, I waited with anxious breath tight in my lungs for the moment of contact. But the truth of the feeling was beyond my imagination—a wet, warm taste. The flat of her tongue in the ridge of my crown. The very tip of me in the humid chamber of her mouth before it closed around me. And when I could breathe again, it was with a shaky sigh.

My senses exploded, raw and attuned and humming. The hot hollow of her mouth, the feel of her tongue, the soft pull of suction, her hand fisted at my base, shifting in time to the motion of her neck. Her silky hair in my hand, the curve of her neck under my palm, the line of her jaw against my thumb. The sound of her breath and of mine, the wet kiss of her mouth, the hum from deep in her throat, an answering hum of my own.

It was an eternity. It was a heartbeat. And I would wait for her no longer.