“I can’t with you watching like that,” I said.

He came closer and kissed me, then cupped my chin as he met my eyes. “You are fucking beautiful. You realize that, don’t you? If you weren’t, it would be easier to stop making bad decisions like this with you. Now take your dress off for me, and make it slow. I want to enjoy this.”

I ran my tongue over my lips and felt my blush deepen when I realized he had his hand on his erection. He was watching me hungrily, waiting.

I swallowed hard, then took the hem of my dress as I sat on the bed and started to lift it. The fabric glided up my thighs and over my hips, revealing the pink thong he’d picked out a week ago–a week that felt like a lifetime at this point.

Dean groaned, gripping himself tighter and pumping his fist. Maybe it should’ve been awkward to have him standing there touching himself to the sight of me like that, but it just felt hot. It made me feel sexy. Wanted. Desired. It made me feel like a prize, and I liked the way that felt.

I brought the dress up over my chest and felt my breasts lift and fall with a bounce. Dean made another sound of approval, eyes roaming me greedily. I tossed the dress beside me on the bed, watching him and waiting.

“The thong. Take it off. Slow,” he reminded me.

I chewed my lip, still watching the hypnotizing movement of his fist. I hooked my thumb in the waistband and pulled them down. I tossed them to the ground, smiling nervously as I waited for his next command. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I didn’t expect him to come forward and fall at his knees in front of me.

I only had time to raise my eyebrows before he pushed my legs apart and buried his head between my legs. “I need to taste you,” he groaned.

In my more civilized moments, I might have thought the idea of being tasted there was the sweaty nightmare of every self-conscious woman who had ever lived. But I wasn’t feeling particularly civilized. Right then, the idea of Dean Slater wanting to put his tongue between my legs like some kind of savage was just about the hottest thing I could’ve imagined.

I threw my head back, legs open wide and hands gripping his soft hair.

He buried his face between my legs, licking and sucking me with abandon.

I had no idea what he was doing, exactly, but I knew it felt good. I squirmed. I moaned. I gasped and pulled at his hair. I writhed against him, thighs pressing in on his head until he probably couldn’t hear a thing but his own heartbeat.

Foreplay wasn’t a race to an orgasm, but if it was, I would’ve won. I didn’t think it had been more than a minute or two before I was crying out and taking a hard handful of the sheets, body shaking and mind emptying as the pure bliss of my climax rocked me.