He was leaning back against the counter, hands resting on the edge, elbows back, pushing his chest out and straining his shirt across it. Aside from the one pan of water on the stove that hadn’t been touched, she couldn’t see any signs of him making any sort of breakfast. In fact, he seemed more inclined to spend his time watching her, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“I thought you were making breakfast.”

“I am,” he said. “In about an hour.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “An hour?”

“Getting that taste of you, it’s got me interested in more important things. And now you’re all fresh and ready for me…” The expression on his face was something she could only describe as predatory, making a spike of heat shoot through her groin. “Come here,” he said, and she went to him.

They met with a hungry kiss, mouths crashing and tongues seeking, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t reach out for her, just stayed leaning back against the counter, casual and almost as if he was uninterested—except she could feel his interest in the eagerness of his kiss, the heartbeat against her chest as she leaned into him.

She kissed him deeper, or tried to—but he pulled his head back and looked her in the eye with darkness on his face, and she understood. In that thrilling moment, with him having to say nothing, she understood. And she got to her knees.

He pushed hair out of her face as she worked on his zipper—a loving touch, soft and caressing, then cupping the back of her head as she drew in a breath, heart racing with the excitement of what she was about to do. How she would make him fall apart.

His cock came free as she parted the zipper and tugged his pants slightly down his thighs, thick and hard and slightly wet at the tip, making her mouth water. She sucked in a shaky breath and took him in her hand, fisting the base as she leaned forward and placed a single delicate kiss to the damp head. Above her, Preston made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

She flicked out her tongue to savor him, saltiness spreading across her taste buds, before kissing the swollen skin again, using her grip on him to smear the slick saltiness over her lips, and shifting her weight to find a better angle to take him in.

His impatience won out—with one hand tangled in her still-messy hair, he held her head still until she looked up at him through her lashes. He knocked her hand away from his hard cock and replaced it with his own, grasping himself and feeding it past her lips, into her mouth, sliding over her tongue and filling her up with it.

She moaned around him and watched him bite his lip as he pulled back out, staring at her as if fascinated, completely mesmerized by the sight of his cock slipping in and out of her wet mouth. She clamped her lips around him, rubbed her tongue along the underside, and sucked on him, closing her eyes, tilting her head back into his hand tangled in her hair and letting him have it.

He groaned, deep and desperate, bringing both hands to the side of her head and holding her still. They were shallow thrusts at first, with him gently fucking her mouth, sliding his cock back and forth over her tongue and his thumb coming to the corner of her mouth, feeling himself enter her and draw back.

She scratched nails up both of his thighs, found the creases where thigh met groin, and rubbed her thumbs there, and then inwards, cupping his balls, rolling them in her palm and then feeling her underwear flood with wet heat when he bit off a growl and quickened his pace, pushing into her face like he wanted to bruise her with it, making her almost want to gag and cough and cry out with how perfect it felt.

She thought she’d got him—made him reach the point of no return, his thrusts growing rapid and without rhythm, the noises spilling from him, animalistic and uncontrolled—but in the moment before she was sure he’d reached his peak, when she opened her throat to him and sucked hard on him as if desperate to taste his seed, he stopped.

He pulled out with jarring abruptness and yanked her to her feet and up, stepping out of his pants and lifting her off the floor, legs around his waist, his hard, wet cock nestled between her thighs. And then he was kissing her, wildly and with urgency. “This dirty mouth, so fucking perfect—” he was saying, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, carrying her out of the kitchen and through the house. “—drive me crazy—”

She wanted him more in that moment than she’d ever wanted anything before, and so she keened, arching her back into him, scrabbling at his shoulders to hold on tight and pull him in closer as he kissed the breath from her, reached the bed and dropped her back on it. She wasn’t sure who removed which item of clothing but she did know that she could barely focus on anything but her need for him, the hot blood coursing through her veins, the blissful throb in her groin as he spread her out naked, climbed on top of her, parted her legs and slotted between them.

And then: “Shit, I don’t have—”

“I do,” she said, breathing out the words, reaching out to fumble blindly in her bedside drawer because she knew she had a pack in there somewhere, left over from unhappy times, god, please—

He helped her out, lifted up enough to dig around in the drawer and came out victorious, then ripped open the packet and sheathed his cock, took hold of himself, lined up and pushed all the way in…

And then stopped, as both of them panted into the space between them, his groin pressed tight against hers and his cock pulsing inside her, hard and desperate, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her aching pussy while he stared at her, unmoving and wordless.

“What—what is it?” she asked, tightening her thighs around him, urging him to move, to do something, anything, before she went out of her mind with it.

He shook his head, the barest of movements, and murmured, “Slowly.” There was a look in his eye that was almost like reverence, and her heart stuttered in the moments before he leaned down and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, found her mouth and sipped pleasure from her lips as he started moving within her, slow and deep and torturously perfect.

He kissed her through it all, her mouth and her jaw and her throat, sliding his tongue over the mounds of her breasts and across her nipples and back to her mouth, plunging in deep and stealing the moans from her chest, and all the while, so exquisitely unhurried, sliding his hardness in and out of her body, dragging over her clit with each pass, making her pleasure spiral up through her spine and out. She felt it in her fingertips, in her toes, on the damp skin at the back of her neck—an all-consuming wave of pure ecstasy that took her over and made her almost soundless, head thrown back and mouth open, body jolting with each spike of orgasmic bliss.

From somewhere beyond the periphery of her euphoria, she heard him groan, felt the push of him deep inside her, and then minutes of nothing but his weight wrapped around her, his occasional soft kiss on her shoulder or throat. And in that glow of perfect, blissful contentment, as they rested together in the trembling aftershocks of their shared climax, the words filtered unbidden and crystal clear into her head. She couldn’t say them, those three little words, but she felt them, and when she turned her head to meet his mouth, she let them spill into the kiss.