Admittedly, I’ve never wondered much about the way my pussy looks. It’s always served its purpose just fine. She’s been a real champ, if you ask me. But I preen under that compliment from Cade. He’s older. More experienced. If he says it’s pretty, well, who am I to disagree?

I lick my lips as I stare down at him. “Thank you.” The words come easier every time. The expression of satisfaction on his face is my reward. At first I was a bit fired up over it, but satisfying Cade—seeing that expression on his face—it’s quickly becoming a favorite pastime of mine.

“Good girl,” he hums, touching my body so reverently that I squirm. He doesn’t rush, he doesn’t slam into me. His movements are languid as he wrings every ounce of pleasure from every corner of my body, and I’ve felt nothing like it before. “Now you’re going to come for me, baby.”

The way his fingers move, his intense stare while he plays with my pretty pussy—his words, not mine—causes everything to build. The sensations. The way the shadows play across his handsome face and chiseled shoulders. The way they flex when he moves his arm. The feel of his fingertips pushing into the soft flesh of my leg.

The sudden way he’s sucking at my clit while lazily pushing his fingers into me. He’s got the whole movement down pat. The curling and pressing rhythm. He plays my body like it’s an instrument he knows inside and out.

And when the pressure winds through my hip, wrapping around the base of my spine, I grip his head and pull his face tight against my pussy, grinding against him as I topple.

“Cade!” I call out, just like I promised him I would, as I come apart. Legs shaking. Toes curling. The arches of my feet cramp, and his movements just continue. He doesn’t stop too soon, like so many men do. He’s not eager to be done with the foreplay. This isn’t a chore for him, and I think that might be the sexiest thing about it.

I smile up at the smooth white ceiling, cast in a golden tone from the glow of the lamp, and feel my limbs go soft. And with that rush of pleasure comes a rush of protectiveness. A rush of rage that someone could wound him so profoundly. That someone could stray the way his ex did.

The resistance. The jealousy. The longing looks. The solitary way he lives his life. It all makes so much more sense now.

And I have every intention of showing him how badly I want him.