My mouth falls to her breast, feasting on her, instantly driving her wild.

“Feel good?” I ask, knowing the answer, feeling anger festering. I’m a true, total fuck-up.

“Yes!”

“You want more of my mouth?” I goad, wanting her need confirmed, demanding to hear it again.

“Jesus, Jesse!”

There it is. All for me. I divide the attention of my tongue between her boobs, allowing her increasing impatience and breathy gasps to ease me back down to stable. Will I ever be stable? I hiss when she sinks her nails into my scalp, willing on the punishment until I’ve no more mess to lick up.

“All clean.” I stand, wiping my mouth. “But she wants more of my mouth.” This isn’t about what she wants, despite her wanting it. This is all about me. Easing my insecurities. Easing my pain. Easing my conscience. I place a hand on each of her thighs and spread her legs, dragging in air at the mere vision of her. “Fuck, Ava. You’re weeping.” I cast my eyes to hers as I lower my head, her smell potent, her heat sizzling. Every muscle she has locks tightly, preparing for me.

Am I prepared?

Never.

I plunge my tongue deep into her, flattening it and dragging it firmly up her center.

“Oh . . . God!” She bucks, and I drive two fingers inside, pinning her down with my forearm.

“You want me to stop?” I ask, licking her, kissing her, pumping hard with my fingers. I smile wickedly, maintaining my cruel combination of tongue thrashes and drives, savoring the sight of her falling apart. She’s coming. I can taste it. Feel it. Smell it.

Her clit pounds against my tongue and her body bends violently, her head tossing from side to side as she explodes on a yell, vibrating manically. Then she flops back down to the counter, gasping for breath, wet through. I should give her time to recover. Should. I can’t. She’s dripping, and my cock wants part of that. “You’re amazing. I need to be inside you.” I haul her hips up and hammer forward as I yank her down. “My turn.” There’s no space for consideration. No room for accommodation.

My hips piston, and I bang into her, out of control. It doesn’t take her long to find my sway. Her arms are flung back, she yells, and she accepts my power. I’m tight everywhere, my arms, my grip, my jaw. The friction is sublime, her face a picture. “Does that feel good, Ava?”

“God, yes.”

“You won’t run away from me again, will you?” I grunt through my pounds.

“No!”

It’s exactly what I needed to hear. Yet it doesn’t slow my thundering hips, doesn’t make me take my time. I drag her up and swing her around, slamming her into the wall, my urgency, my conscience, getting the better of me. But can I stop? Never.