Her hair was in a ponytail. He liked it down, but the ponytail gave him something to grip. And he needed something. She was working him. Using her mouth. Her tongue. That very talented tongue. All the while one hand continued to massage his balls while the other slid over his shaft with her mouth. Tight. Hot. Perfect. His brain began to shut down.

He stepped even closer, forcing her head back to tilt it up, using her hair to guide her, he began to use his hips, slow at first, pushing deeper into her mouth. No way could she take all of him, but she was willing to try and he loved her for that alone. He had gone from having nothing—no one—to being in his kitchen with the woman of his dreams, her mouth wrapped tight around his cock, her eyes on his face, watching his every expression, taking him as deep as she could because she loved him like that. Gave him that gift.

“Baby,” he breathed. Warning her.

She didn’t stop. If anything she took him deeper, her fingers moving from his balls to his hip, urging him to her. She suckled hard, hollowing her cheeks while her tongue danced and stroked him toward oblivion. Every single time she did that, every single time she gave him heaven, he felt a burn behind his eyes and his throat went raw. Worse, that fucking emotion, that love he had for her was so strong, so powerful, he knew he would do anything for her. Give up anything. He knew she could so easily be the weapon that would destroy him.

When he thought she’d given all she had, she always gave more, taking him down her throat when she didn’t have to. When most women wouldn’t give their men that kind of paradise, she did. She didn’t come to him with experience, but she sure as hell learned what pleased him. And she did it willingly and happily.

She finished gently. Loving him. Taking care of him with her mouth and tongue. On top of paradise she gave him fucking heaven. He leaned down and ran his finger across her lower lip. His breath came too hard. His legs were made of rubber, but it was his heart that wasn’t going to recover.

She licked her lips, catching the last droplets, her eyes anxious. She sat up slowly, her hands going to her camisole as if she might pull it up. His hands covered hers, stopping her.

“Leave it.” His voice came out harsh. Edgy. His leopard close. So close. He had to breathe deeply to keep the animal at bay.

Anxiety crept into her eyes. She didn’t look away from him, still with that expression on her face. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck.

“Honey,” she whispered softly. “What did I do wrong? You have to tell me, and I swear, I’ll learn.”