Henry’s tongue landed on my clit.
Light exploded across my vision. But I kept my eyes open, locked on his. He held my gaze, dipped his finger inside my pussy and lapped his tongue against my clit like it was a dish he wanted to slowly, sweetly lick clean.
We were made for each other, primed to respond only to each other. Every time I neared the edge, he backed off, lightened his strokes. I’d never had a man stare so soulfully into my eyes as he licked me, never had a man beg me to come this way. But his tongue was a devil, never letting me get close, fluttering in light, intricate circles. I was a gasping, pleading mess of raw nerves—a writhing body, slick with sweat and arousal.
A second finger hooked inside me, and I wailed Henry’s name. I needed more. More pressure, more tongue, more everything.
I reached down and wrapped my fingers around the back of his head, stilling him. And dragged my pussy against his tongue, fucking his face for one shameless second.
“You want harder, Delilah?” he said in that sinful voice.
I rotated my hips again, sliding his tongue up the length of my folds. Henry groaned and sat back on his knees and lifted the entire lower half of my body clear off the bed. My legs wrapped around his shoulders, arms thrown back over my head—and I was fucking floating. Floating through a sea of sensations that kept climbing…climbing…climbing. I was outright screaming now as he lashed my clit with deliberate movements, thrust his fingers with brutal efficiency. My eyes filled with tears, my core tightened, my pussy clenched and clenched and then…
Euphoria.
I soared somewhere I’d never been before—a place I never wanted to leave. Henry’s talented, focused ministrations took me to a blinding climax that sent tears streaking down my cheeks.
And instead of letting me down gently, he curled his tongue against my clit and ignited a second orgasm that electrified my senses. It took me ages to come back into my body; ages before Henry lowered me down softly; ages before I realized Henry was holding me to his chest and stroking my hair.
I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with such a satisfying blend of carnal hunger and tenderness. I beamed up at him like a lovesick fool.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he whispered.
I responded by sliding my hands up the hard ridges of his stomach. Dragged my tongue up the center of his body and his breathing hitched. Between my legs, his cock was hard as steel. When I reached his nipple, I flattened my tongue, and he fisted his fingers in my hair.
“I want you to feel what I just felt,” I murmured.
Henry had a lean, beautiful musculature that looked carved, sculpted—like a statue in the museums he loved to study. I flipped him over, snagged the waistband of his sweatpants between my teeth, and pulled them all the way down. His cock jutted up and out like the filthiest dream. My mouth watered, fingers moving up his thighs. My tongue landed at the base, and I licked it all the way up.
His fingers tightened in my hair, yanking my mouth back before I could suck.
“Delilah.” He was up on his elbows, abs flexing.
“Yes, Henry?” I teased, hand gliding up his shaft. So silky, so smooth, so big.
“Your mouth…it’s too…too fucking good.”
Henry Finch was coming undone, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
“Just a taste,” I pleaded. “Just one.”
I swirled my tongue at the tip, and his hips flexed off the bed, took him between my lips and lowered them as far as I could. Henry let out a strangled, desperate groan that had another orgasm calling my name from the sounds alone, the masculine taste of him, his fingers in my hair. He was out of control, head back, chanting, “Delilah.” The syllables had never sounded so filthy and depraved. I let Henry fuck my mouth, let him use my wet tongue the way he needed. My movements grew more frantic, pace frenzied—the closer he crept toward climax, the closer I got to my own.
With a half-roar, Henry twisted my hair and pulled me up.
And had me facedown on the mattress, legs spread, eyes covered.
I felt his mouth dip to my ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Delilah.”
My hands ripped at the sheets. I couldn’t quite see Henry, not yet, which had my body primed in anticipation. His hands slid around my waist, over my ass cheeks, spreading them. His mouth was on the curve of my ass, drifting down my folds to lick his tongue inside me.
I cried out, bucked against his lips as he tongue-fucked me. One hand slid up my spine to land at the base of my neck, holding me in place. There was the tell-tale sound of a condom—and the head of his cock was pressing right at my entrance. I tilted my hips, allowing him greater access. He pushed inside me, inch by inch. I screamed into the mattress. Henry went deep.
And then deeper.
And then so fucking deep I had to bite my hand. He was completely still, letting me get used to his size. I was burning up, already on the edge. He slid all the way out. Then all the way back in.
Right over my G-spot.
“Oh my god,” I moaned. “Henry, it’s… Oh my god, do that again.”
His weight dropped carefully on top of me—my back to his chest. His hands landed on either side of my head, muscles of his forearm bunching as he fucked into me again. A slow, steady rhythm that had me panting.
“More,” I said. “Henry, more.”
His mouth landed at my ear again.
“I’ll give you everything you desire, Delilah,” he rasped.
He speared his fingers in my hair and pulled. And thrust into me with force.
“It’s a privilege to bring you pleasure.” He clamped down on the spot between my neck and shoulder, pinning my hips down with his. The angle was deliciously deep as he twisted the strands of my hair.
Henry kissed my neck, licked along my jaw, and fucked me in all the dirty ways I’d always fantasized about. I turned my forehead to the bed, stretched my arms out farther—feeling that wonderful combination of cherished and debauched again. The sensations building inside of me layered, grew, heated my lower belly. Tears were rolling down my cheeks from the exquisite sensations, Henry’s steady thrusts.
His arm banded around my waist, and he lifted, sitting me backward on his lap and driving his cock into me. I screamed his name, head lolling back on his chest so he could continue kissing my throat. He reached down and yanked my knees wide, flattening two fingers right against my clit. Our bodies were slick with sweat, our chests heaving.
“Ride me, Delilah,” Henry commanded in my ear. “Chase it. Take what’s yours.”
I snapped my hips, taking his cock deep, placed my hand over his as he rubbed my clit. His other hand landed on my breast, where I entwined our fingers—holding Henry, holding me, giving us both what we needed. My final orgasm stole my breath with unabashed speed, blackened my vision, robbed my body of strength.
I let everything pour out of me—my fears, my anxiety, my nerves, my guilt. Nothing about Henry and me being together could possibly be wrong.
Henry came with a rough grunt, a grateful moan—tilting my face and kissing me until I was sighing. My tears landed on his fingers. He wiped them away. Kissed my temple, caressed my hair. Our hearts slowed, our breathing slowed. And the sudden realization I’d been avoiding came racing up through my sex-muddled thoughts.
Henry Finch—sexy librarian, newest coworker, partner, fake husband—was the man I was falling for.