She made a little sound of frustration. “Harder.”
I did what she said, gratified by her satisfied moan. Keeping my fingers there, I put my mouth on her, devouring her through the sheer panties. When they were completely soaked, I yanked them down her legs.
She pulled one foot out and left them looped around her other ankle. “You’re right, this is better than dinner.”
“So much better.” I stroked up through her center and circled her clit with my tongue. “Hotter. Sweeter.” I swept my tongue from bottom to top again, weaving it from side to side, before sucking her clit. “Tastier.”
Jillian brought her knees up, lifting her heels in the air. I grabbed her ankles, flicking her clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Yes,” she breathed, lifting her hips. “You’re so good.”
“You want to come?” I asked her.
“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”
My dick was hard again, and I could have, but I wanted something else. I got on the bed next to her and flipped her on top of me so her knees were on either side of my chest.
She looked down at me. “You want me on top?”
“Yeah. Of my face.”
“What?” She tried to scoot down, but I pushed her up and locked my arms around her thighs, so she straddled my face, tight.
She gasped, trying to move off me. “You won’t be able to breathe!”
But my arms had her pinned, so there wasn’t anything she could do about it, and she fell forward, bracing her hands above my head. A moment later my tongue was pushing inside her, and within seconds she began to grind against me, unable to hold back. Loosening my hold, I put my hands on her ass, and she circled her hips. Fuck, the way she moved, the way she tasted, the way she gasped for air—I couldn’t get enough. Then she sat all the way up and took her breasts in her hands, playing with her nipples, pinching them the way I had. She looked down at me, her mouth open, eyes wild with desire. It was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. I moaned and she began to move faster, riding my mouth hard, her breath escaping her in anguished cries. “God, Levi—don’t stop—right there—yes, yes, yes—”
Her body went still and I pulled her tighter to my face, ravaging her with my mouth. She screamed long and hard as her clit pulsed against my tongue, and I didn’t stop until she begged me to.
“Please! Mercy!” she said, half laughing, half serious. She fell forward, catching herself on her hands above my head. “I can’t take any more.”
I helped her wiggle down my body and sat up, holding her on my lap, her knees on either side of me. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were pink, and she couldn’t catch her breath. “You OK?”
“Yes. I think so.” She shivered. “That was intense.”
“Good.”
She pressed her lips to mine. Then she giggled. “Your face smells like my essential oil.”
“I fucking love it. I can’t get enough.”
Tipping her head onto my shoulder, she buried her face in my neck. “I know the feeling.”
I threw on some jeans and a top and met him up in the kitchen, where he was unpacking the grocery bags. This is so nice, seeing him at home in my kitchen. My romantic history involved a few short flings, one extended disaster, and the occasional one-night hookup, but I’d never lived with anyone or gotten so comfortable with someone that he’d stayed over a lot. Watching Levi work in my kitchen gave me a little kick.
“Hope there’s no ice cream in here,” I said, peeking into one of the brown paper sacks.
Levi pulled out a loaf of French bread. “Nope. I like ice cream cones, but they are not beard-friendly.”
“I never thought about that. You could eat it in a bowl,” I suggested, grabbing the bottle of whiskey I’d bought for tonight and breaking the seal.
“What’s the point of ice cream in a bowl?” He set a package wrapped in white butcher paper on the counter. “That’s boring. But I will eat it with pie.”
“What kind of pie do you like?”
“Jillian pie.” He threw me a grin over one shoulder. “But other than that, I’m not picky.”
“Well, you’ve already had your fill of Jillian pie for the evening, but I have—”
“Not true,” he said, pulling out a package of bacon, a bag of greens, and some other vegetables. “My appetite for Jillian pie is never-ending, and it goes so well with bacon-wrapped steak bites. But go on.”
I grinned and pulled two glasses from a cupboard. “I was going to say, my mother gave me a cherry pie this week. She bakes them constantly. Did I tell you I grew up on a cherry farm?”
“No. Did you really?”
“Yes, on Old Mission. Not too far from Abelard Vineyards.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.” He stuck a few things in the refrigerator.
My heart fluttered. “Sure. We could bring Scotty if you want.”
He closed the fridge but stayed facing it, and my brain went a little haywire.
Oh shit. I said the wrong thing. I’m moving too fast. He doesn’t want me to meet his son. He just wants to keep this casual. Friendly. Nonromantic.
But then what was he doing here with bacon and steak? That wasn’t like coming over with a pizza and a six-pack. Bacon and steak said romantic. Bacon and steak said serious. Bacon and steak said couple.
He turned around and looked at me. “You want to meet Scotty?”