Rosamund
He kissed his way down my stomach, his lips lingering at my navel, his tongue dipping in. His hands slid to my inner thighs and eased them apart, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, moving higher in slow, maddening circles that came close but never reached.
"Don't tease me, Nevan," I whispered.
"I'm not teasing." His breath fanned hot against my centre, as he lifted his face, his eyes filled with playfulness. "I'm savouring."
Then his mouth was on me, and every thought I'd ever had dissolved.
He started with a long, slow stroke of his tongue along my outer folds, parting me gently, tasting me with an unhurried thoroughness that made my hips buck against his mouth. He pressed me back down, his hands firm on my hips, and settled into a rhythm that was patient and precise and utterly without mercy.
He explored me as though he had the rest of his life to learn what I needed.
