And then I bury my face between her legs, licking and sucking and kissing. Devouring.
She’s mostly quiet at first, and I register that she’s a soft moaner. I grin wickedly. Because now I know this private detail. Violet is a moaner, and I love that. It’s like I’ve been given the secret keys to her body. I have the code, and I’m unlocking her. She’s a rocker, too, because soon she rocks into my face, holding my hair like a pair of goddamn reins. I fucking love her abandon. I love how hot and wet she is, how good she tastes, how her noises turn to feral groans when I bring my mouth to her clit and suck hard on that gorgeous little diamond of pleasure.
Her noises turn into something else. My name. “Cooper,” she calls out, and it sounds husky, raspy.
I lick her faster, learning her cues, discovering how she likes it. I bring a finger to her center, sliding across her slickness to see if she wants to fuck my finger, too, and she goes wild as I slide into her, her legs clamping tight around my head like a vise, and I love it. She tugs my hair harder.
“Please,” she whimpers hoarsely, then it turns into a chant, like a plea. Her hands grip harder, she thrusts faster, and my world spins further away from me.
She’s so close, and I’m so turned on. A blast of pleasure ricochets down my body, an overwhelming reminder of how much I want to be buried inside her. I’m practically dry humping the couch, I want her so much. I want to fuck her and kiss and touch her and do everything to her.
But I can’t. So I kiss her pussy that way. So she knows I want it all. I devour her sweetness.
“Coming,” she cries in the faintest voice, and then I grip her ass and drink her as her taste floods my tongue, making me high—higher—on her.
When Violet comes, she detonates. She writhes and pants and screams, and it’s beautiful and primal. She can’t stop saying my name, and it sounds intoxicating on her tongue. “Cooper, oh God, Cooper, oh God, Cooper.”
Yeah, I like this chant. I like it a lot.
I slow my moves, easing her down with a final soft kiss. Then I move away from her sensitive clit and kiss her hip bone, her navel, up to her breasts. She cradles my head between them, lacing her fingers through my hair.
“Cooper, this is my happy zone,” she says softly.
“Mmmm. Me, too.” I look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are hazy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her expression is one I want to remember forever—my woman, thoroughly satisfied. “Can I do that again?”
“You better,” she says playfully.
“How about now?”
She gives me a look like I can’t be serious. “Now?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Please,” she says her voice beautifully desperate, then she pushes me down her body. That move right there, her hands shoving me back to her sweetness, is my new favorite part of the night, as she makes it patently clear where she wants me.
I return to her, and I kiss her once more, going slower, taking my time, learning how she likes it when she’s already had it once. I work her up to a second time, kissing, licking, building, gliding, until she flies off the edge once more, thanks to my fingers and my mouth and my dirty desire to taste her pleasure all over again.
Afterward, I scoot next to her on the couch and wrap an arm around her. She sighs and snuggles against me, her naked body pressed to my clothed one. “You’re like a limp noodle,” I murmur, loving her post-orgasmic state of bliss.
“My noodleness is all your fault,” she teases.
I move her hair off her neck and press a gentle kiss to her soft skin. Another sweet sigh is my reward. The lights of the tree are flashing blue and white against the window when “Wrecking Ball” begins, and I groan.
“C’mon, karaoke king. Sing it with me,” she says.
“You know how I feel about Miley.”
“But this song. It’s so epic. Just the chorus at least?”
And seriously, with her naked in my arms, how can I not do her bidding?
A little later, she gathers her clothes as if she’s going to leave. I furrow my brow. “What’s this?”
“Don’t you want me to go?”
I sit up straight. “Um, no.”
“You don’t?”
“Seriously? Why on earth would I want you to go?”
“Because . . .” She flaps her arms, as if she’s gesturing to us and what’s happening.
“Because . . . you can’t fly home? Are you trying to fly, Violet?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I just figured . . .”
“That I’m a playboy who’ll kick you out,” I say, and grab her waist and tackle her.