I do. Because she taught me. Because every time she guided my mouth, every soft moan of there, just like that — I took it like gospel. I lay her back on my bed, my head between her thighs after pulling off her pants, and moan against her, the taste of her hitting me like a goddamn drug. She gasps, one hand flying to my hair, fingers tightening as she pushes her hips against my tongue. “That’s it, Carter… open your mouth for me.”

I do. Her voice alone makes me grind against the bed, cock aching and untouched. I suck gently on her clit, letting her ride my face, letting her fuck my mouth however she wants.

“Deeper,” she pants, breath catching. “Don’t be scared, I want all of you.”

A whimper escapes my mouth and press in harder, licking with slow, messy circles, then flattening my tongue, dragging it back and forth until her thighs are shaking around my head.

“You’re doing so good,” she moans. “My sweet boy… always so desperate for me.”

And she’s right. I’m desperate, making fucking noises against her pussy like I’m the one about to come. My jaw aches, my eyes burn, and still I don’t stop.

She’s gasping now, hands clenched in my hair, body arching, one long, shuddering moan spilling from her lips as she falls apart on my tongue.

I keep licking her through it, until she’s trembling. “Fuck,” I breathe against her. “I love you like this.”

She hums in response, a lazy, fucked-out sound and her hand slips from my hair. Her chest rises slowly. She’s falling asleep. I slide up beside her, kiss her shoulder, and wrap myself around her. I should close my eyes. But I hear the door open. My body goes rigid.

Tate stands in the doorway, shirtless, sweatpants slung low, shadows cutting across his chest from the hallway light. He steps inside, slow and quiet, eyes locked on the bed. He doesn’t say a word.

“Don’t,” I mutter. “She’s sleeping.”

Tate’s smirk is immediate, like I just said something funny. He shuts the door with a soft click, eyes never leaving me. “Didn’t say a thing, golden boy.”

But I see it. The way his gaze shifts, dragging down Haven’s body, taking in every detail the bare stretch of her thighs tangled in the sheets.

“You did good,” he says. “She looks exhausted. Bet she was fucking perfect for you.”

My pulse spikes, not because of the words. Just the way he says them, like he was there.

“Seriously.” I shift. “Don’t be a dick, Tate. This was our moment.”

He raises a brow, not arguing. Not backing off either. Just steps closer, crouching beside the bed. His hand hovers above her hip, close enough that my body tenses, but he doesn’t touch.

“You ever heard of somnophilia?” he asks. “Fucking someone while they sleep?”