“You’re so f**king beautiful.” He pressed a kiss on her chest, between her br**sts, pausing to take a deep breath. “And you smell good enough to eat. At least twice.”

She made a ragged sound, laced with need and something else that brought so much emotion he had to swallow it back.

She didn’t reply, only looking into his eyes for a while and then kissing his forehead before taking his shirt off.

Then she started.

Kissing down his neck, nibbling on his earlobes one at a time until he was a shivering mess of a man who needed to come more than he’d ever thought possible.

“Tell me about these,” she said, pausing to press a line of kisses up each forearm.

He leaned back, rolling his hips to grind his c**k into her pu**y, enjoying the way her breath stuttered.

Straightening his arms, he rested one in her hands, exposing the musical notes and a date. “Our first top-ten single was called ‘Reflected.’ This is my favorite part of the song.”

Bent over him, she massaged fingers up his forearm, kneading and stroking. She had a thing for his hands and his forearms, which he found ridiculously sexy.

“I like it.”

“Me too. It helps having an in with a great tattoo artist.” He grinned at the thought of Brody. He switched arms. You got to change with it scrolled upward. “You’ve seen this one. One of my favorite Woody Guthrie quotes.”

She dipped down to kiss the hollow of his elbow and he had to close his eyes a moment at how unexpectedly good it felt. “Your arms are so strong.” She kissed up his biceps. “Why do you have Themis on your back?”

“I’m impressed you knew her name. Most people just say justice.”

“I like goddesses. And I really like Themis.” She said these things as she kissed her way across his chest, pausing to flick her tongue over his nipple until he arched with a hiss.

“You can tell me after I’ve sucked your cock,” she said, sliding down his body to settle on her knees at his feet.

He nearly choked on his tongue but then she was back, undoing his pants as she licked over his belly.

She pulled his jeans down enough to get at his cock, licking over it as she kept a tight grip at the base. So f**king good it made his balls draw close to his body.

“If I can remember how to talk when you’re done,” he choked out.

All he could do was watch as his cock, shiny, hard and dark with arousal, disappeared between her lips over and over. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes fanned against pale skin.

He looked on as she sucked him hard and deep and then shallow and wet. She licked up the line of his cock, just how he liked it, and then added sweet digs of her tongue in the sensitive spot at the head.

She sucked his c**k like it was the only thing she wanted or needed. It wasn’t that he was a stranger to a blow job, but with Gillian it was different. As everything else about her had been, he supposed.

Each suck and draw, each time she pulled back and fisted him a few times and then dived back in, taking him as far back as she could drove him toward the edge.

She hummed for one long moment, as if totally pleased, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Her eyes opened slowly as the fingertip pressing just behind his balls slid back just a bit more, tickling over his ass**le. All while he watched.

She pulled her mouth off, waiting for a sign, and he arched toward her. She smiled as she sucked him back in and pressed that questing finger in just a little, stroking and warming.

Goddamn, that felt f**king amazing. He slid closer to the edge of the couch and she got a better angle.

She let go of the root of his c**k and reached down, sliding her zipper open, and he knew exactly what she was doing.

“Are you touching your pu**y?” He managed to say all the words, which surprised him because his tongue felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Mmm.”

But he’d been wrong because she wasn’t fingering herself, she was bringing her sweet, slick honey up to where her other finger was, spreading it to make him wet. In more, a slight burn, but more pleasure than pain. Waves of that sensation spread through him, echoing straight to his cock, which grew harder with every bit of progress she made with mouth and fingers in concert.

His legs were hobbled by his jeans but he wanted to move so badly. Wanted . . . something. God, something more.

And she gave it to him when she slid her fingertips over his prostate. He didn’t recognize the snarl of pleasure he made, didn’t remember making it, didn’t recall sending messages to his muscles to begin to thrust into her mouth, f**king it as she stroked that exquisitely sweet spot inside him.

He was in a place beyond forming words—unable to tear his eyes from this woman on her knees, her hair wild and loose around her naked torso, her mouth on his cock, two fingers inside him.

And when he came, arched, hips thrust, groaning, it was her name he spoke.

For long moments afterward, she rested her head on his thigh and he simply stroked a hand over her hair. After a while she sighed happily and stood, sweetly placing a throw over his lap. Then she left the room for a moment as he worked to catch his breath and get his bearings again.

“I put the kettle on for tea,” she said, returning to him, still naked from the waist up.

“If the gas guy is in the yard checking your meter, he just got an early Christmas present.”

She laughed with a blush. “I looked to see if anyone was out there first. I’m not prone to streaking past the windows.”