None of that is happening now: all I can think is how much more I want to take, how the skin is stretched so tight around him, how I can practically feel how it must be for him when I lick him wetly, suck at where he leaks, pull the entire head of his cock into my mouth and as far down as I can take it. My hands find his balls, feeling, knowing. This body is mine to know, mine to touch, and he helps me move, helps me find a rhythm and his hips shift with me, his voice encourages me with the broken sounds and tiny grunts and I love how hard he gets, harder, harder as I suck and he’s close, oh fuck, he’s so close already and I ache for it. I want him to come in me, on me, over me, and he’s there, thrusts wild, hands making fists in my hair, voice growing louder in warning, accent thick and garbled but I don’t want to stop, I want him like this: hips flexed as he’s coming in my throat, growling as I suck all the way through it. He presses his lips to my hair, groaning as the final spasms of his orgasm shake through him, and the feel of it is like a million tiny lightning bolts dancing across my scalp.

He stares down at me, catching his breath as I kiss up and down his cock.

I have never loved doing that before, but holy fuck, now I’m obsessed. I collapse back on the mattress, biting my lip through an enormous grin.

Oliver shifts forward, bending over me with two fists planted beside my hips. “You just sucked my soul out of me.”

I roll to the side, giggling and feeling pretty fucking proud of the head I just gave because just looking at him I can tell it was stellar. He kicks off his pants, rolls me back so he’s above me, and kisses my breasts, down my stomach . . . and in a haze I realize where he’s headed, what he’s going to do.

“No,” I whisper, quickly adding, “It’s okay.” I slide my fingers under his jaw, guide his face back up to mine.

He’s gone quiet. Oliver kisses me once but no more. He stares down at me, studying my face.

Something is wrapped around my heart, growing tighter the longer I look at him—the floppy brown hair and blue eyes still full of satisfaction, but now also mixed with something else, something knowing—and I have to close my eyes to ease the ache of it because it was all so perfect until I stopped him.

“Look at me.” He waits and then urges, “Lola.”

I open my eyes, focus on his mouth. The soft bottom lip, dark stubble shadowing his jaw.

“You don’t want me to kiss you here.” His fingers drift between my legs.

“I do. . . .”

“Then why did you stop me?”

“It’s . . .”

“It’s what?”

“It’s a thing.”

“ ‘A thing’?” He pulls back a little, a jerky movement that tells me he’s not sure he likes what I’m saying. “I don’t know what you mean.”

God, I am so bad at articulating this. “The whole backstory.”

“The what?”

Sighing, I throw an arm over my face and am grateful he doesn’t immediately pull it away. “You know. About learning from your roommates and her friends. How you became this oral sex legend. It just means you’ve done it with a lot of women.”

When I move my arm, I see that he looks briefly amused. “You just gave me the blow job of my life.”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” I tell him honestly. “You inspired me. I haven’t been taught.”

He sighs. “I was wondering if it bothered you, or if you were teasing me.”

I reach up, trace his mouth with my fingertip. “It doesn’t bother me or make me jealous. It makes me feel like I have to get it, if that makes sense. I don’t like oral sex. But with you, if I don’t come it’s because of me.” He starts to say something but I press my fingers to his mouth so I can finish my thought first: “I’m not very good at relaxing when guys are doing that to me. I never have been; my mind wanders and I start thinking of other things and . . . I realize that makes me weird, but there you go.”

He closes his eyes. “Do you feel the same with me as you have with these other men?”

The hilarity of this. “No. Of course not.”

“Have you considered that you didn’t enjoy it because they weren’t very good at it?”

“Yes, but I’ve also considered that I didn’t enjoy it because they didn’t, either.”

He stares at me, head tilted, expression unreadable, until he whispers, “Or maybe you need to be comfortable with the person in order to be comfortable with the act?”

“No . . . I mean,” I whisper, feeling truly naked for the first time tonight, “what if you don’t like it with me?”

His gaze softens. “How could that possibly happen?”

When I don’t answer he whispers, “Lola. I’ve already felt you. I’ve tasted you.”

“I know.”

“On my fingers. On yours. Do you remember how I responded?”

I close my eyes and nod. I remember the sounds he made, the way he seemed to want more.

He lifts my hand, kisses my palm. “I’d be so careful with you.”

“I trust—”

“I’d start slow,” he interrupts, kissing me again. “Just kissing you there first.”

I bite back a smile but it dissolves when his tongue slips across my palm, tracing in a soft, wide circle. His lips come together and he sucks gently on each of my fingers.

“I wouldn’t suck too hard. Wouldn’t lick too fast.”

Swirling around my palm, his tongue forms smaller and smaller circles until my hand feels wet and warm under his kiss and I ache so intensely for him that I feel a little breathless. “And it’s me. It’s Oliver. Not some other guy.”

I smile, pulling my hand back enough to run my finger across his stubbly chin.

“Circles, I think,” he muses. “Just around and around and around so steady and gentle until you’re soaking wet with legs spread wide and you’re clawing at the sheets, begging to come on my lips. I’d want you begging for my mouth every time we’re alone.”

He looks up at me.

“And I’d give it to you, Lola,” he says quietly, earnestly. “I would suck the pleasure straight out of you; I wouldn’t toy with you. If I could get you there I would, whenever you want it.” He slides his tongue along my index finger to the tip. “I want to be so good you never let me go.”

I exhale a hoarse, begging noise. I already can’t imagine my life without him.

“But after I’d do that, I’d need to feel you.”

“You would?”

He brings my hand between us, circling his cock. “See, even the idea has me hard again and I just came. Already I’m so bloody hard for you.”

After studying his face for three deep breaths, I nod, and he shifts back again, this time kneeling between my legs at the side of the bed.

He watches where he touches me and I fight the urge to cover myself, closing my eyes instead. I feel his hair brush my thighs as he bends forward, feel his breath when he exhales against me, and then feel the soft kiss, one more, and then his lips part and cover me, and his tongue is there, touching, stroking so carefully.

“Holy fuck,” he growls, and his hands shake as he spreads my legs, urges me to rest my feet on the mattress. “Holy fuck, Lola.”

I no longer want careful.

I no longer want gentle.

I want him to pull out every fucking trick he ever learned because if he can make me feel this much with one single kiss, I’m dying to know what I feel when he pulls out all the stops.

Once I’m situated he quickly returns to me, trying to be slow. He’s watching me—eyes glued to my face—and my chest twists when I see how anxious he is to please me. Pushing my head into the mattress, I arch into him, whispering, “It’s good, it’s good, it’s good,” and it unleashes something in him. I don’t know what he’s doing; I don’t know if I even have the muscles he’s using but it’s fast and perfect and better than any sex toy I’ve ever found.

Holy shit . . .

I want to watch but there is too much to feel. The wet slide of his tongue, the vibrations of his sounds, how my thighs shake, my stomach grows tight, pleasure crawls up my torso.