I lick my way up his length and slide my tongue over the head. Dean grabs a section of his comforter and clutches it as if it’ll help him remain grounded. With the other hand, he pushes my hair to the side, ensuring himself a clear view of my ministrations.

I’m just as greedy to see the evidence of his pleasure, so I catalog his features and note that each time I apply a tiny bit of pressure at the base, he clenches his jaw and flinches.

He caresses my cheek and watches me with an intensity that drives me to take him deeper, to suck him harder. “Fuck, Solange, your lips sliding over my dick is the most amazing thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Those words travel to my sex and settle there, a steady throb that makes me squirm in frustration.

Dean notices. “You need my tongue too, don’t you?” He pats the bed. “Come on up here.”

I release him and climb onto the bed.

“Stay on your hands and knees, please,” he says as he rises to his feet.

I stop midcrawl and wait—but not for long. Soon, Dean’s massaging my ass, and not long after that, he gently pushes my torso down so my face is resting on the bed. When he licks my pussy from behind, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Other words follow, but I’m not making any sense. My muscles tighten, as if doing so will help me isolate and heighten the sensations between my thighs.

His mouth leaves me, and I whimper a soft protest.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not done.”

As far as I’m concerned, he could bury his face between my legs for eternity and it wouldn’t be enough.

“Turn around, Solange.”

I do.

“Now scoot all the way up,” he instructs.

I do that too.

Dean then lies on the bed and settles his face against my thighs. “You’re so plump and pretty down here.” He grazes my clit with his thumb. “It’s swollen. So deliciously swollen. And I can’t wait to lick you here.”

I’m undulating on the bed now, shamelessly trying to draw his mouth closer to my core. “Please, Dean.”

“Would you like my fingers?” he asks.

“I’d like your fingers. Your mouth. Your tongue. Give me everything. Please.”

What follows is a riot of sensation that’s both dizzying and disorienting. Dean’s hands and mouth seem to be everywhere—stroking, sucking, kneading. My brain can’t process everything he’s doing, but my body registers the pleasure just fine. At one point he raises his head. “Tell me when you’re close.”

“I’ve been close since we started,” I say.

After putting on a condom, he crawls up the bed and coaxes me onto my side, positioning himself behind me. “Can I fuck you this way?”