A little whimper escapes her. “It’s not embarrassing, no.”
“So you won’t mind if I talk about eating your juicy pussy?” I lift away from her to catch her reaction.
She slaps her hands over her face, a laugh escaping her as she spreads her fingers wide so I can see her eyes peeking through. They dance with amusement. And arousal. “God, Cannon, really? My juicy—pussy?” She chokes out that last word, which makes me laugh too.
“I bet it’s real wet,” I tell her after my laughter dies, my hand wandering across her soft belly, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. “I bet I can make it even wetter.”
Her legs go wider, and I know she wants me to make that pussy wetter.
I will happily oblige.
Cannon has a very determined expression on his face. His lips are thin, his gaze steely and his jaw extra firm. Even his nostrils are flaring, and I never thought that to be particularly sexy on a man, but on Cannon…
That would be a yes.
All his talk about making my—pussy (yes, I’m having a hard time even thinking the word, though I did actually say it only a few moments ago) wetter, is indeed making it wetter. And now that he’s sliding my panties off with those big hands of his, his fingers brushing against my legs on purpose, my entire body is trembling in anticipation of what he might do next.
He surprises me by dropping soft kisses across my stomach. Gentle, damp touches of his lips, no licking tongue or sharp teeth involved. My eyes tightly closed, I try to calm my ragged breathing, pretend that I’ve got it together. That this is no big deal, being in this giant man’s bed, his hands all over my naked body. But it’s so very difficult when I can’t stop thinking about the insistent pulsing between my legs.
And how Cannon’s face will most likely end up between my legs.
All of his soft, sweet kisses are a tease. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs. His tongue dips into my bellybutton, making me inhale sharply at the shock of it. Those giant hands of his push my legs open as he readjusts his position between my thighs and then…
And then.
His mouth is there. A teasing brush. A quick kiss, an exhalation of hot breath upon my most sensitive skin. I squirm beneath him, wanting more, unsure of how I should ask, frantically trying to come up with ways to ask.
He’s driving me absolutely insane, and he really hasn’t even done anything yet.
Cannon pulls away and remains still, like he’s studying me down there, and I crack open my eyes to find that yes indeed, he is definitely studying me down there.
“I like that you’re not waxed,” he observes, his gaze never leaving my most intimate spot.
I frown at him. “What do you mean?” I trim it a bit, shave a little here and there, but I don’t go completely bare. Considering the men in my life are pretty few and far between at the moment, what’s the point in getting a complete wax job only to end up itchy and miserable when it grows back in? I don’t bother keeping up with the regular appointments.
Not like anyone’s checking me out down there anyway.
Not until Cannon.
“You’ve got a pretty full bush.” He actually finger combs my “pretty full bush,” and I must admit, it feels...wonderful. Though anytime Cannon touches me, it feels wonderful. “I like it.”
“Um, thank you,” I say weakly, because I don’t know how else to answer him.
“You’re welcome,” he says with a chuckle, his mouth hovering just above where I want him the most. “You’re extra pretty down here too.”
I’ve never had a man compliment my vagina before. Should I find this rather odd? Because for some reason, I don’t. “You think so?”
“Oh yeah. All pink and glistening.” He dips his head and licks me with his wide tongue, shocking a loud gasp out of me. “You taste good too.”
I’m about to say something else, something completely inane and silly, but then he starts licking me in earnest, his tongue everywhere at once, his fingers spreading me wide as he sets his focus on my clitoris.
He licks and sucks it greedily, drawing the bit of flesh between his lips, slipping one finger, then another inside of me.
It takes no time at all for my orgasm to draw closer, hovering just beyond the horizon, and I swear I’m about to fall over that delicious edge when he pulls away and asks, “You like that?”
My fingers curl into fists and I pound the mattress with frustration. “I freaking love it.”
I never, absolutely ever say things like I freaking love it.