“I’d like to see them try,” Shay says, leaning down and brushing her nose against my jaw. My head falls back, my eyes fluttering closed. “You’re all mine, and I don’t plan to give you up.”
“You better not,” I say, luxuriating in her answering laugh as it vibrates over my skin.
She kisses me, and she tastes like chocolate and coffee liqueur, sweet and syrupy. Standing above me, she has complete control of the pace of our kiss, and she’s taking it so fucking slow. Every brush of her tongue against mine is intentional, languid, and it’s driving me out of my mind.
Shay pulls back and lifts my sweater over my head, then my shirt, and I start to question if this is a good idea, given how much I’m already struggling to stay quiet.
Her fingers ghost over my skin, tickling and teasing, and I have to bite down on my lip when her mouth follows their path.
“Speaking of forever,” she murmurs against my skin. I feel every word reverberating across my collarbone. “What your parents were talking about earlier?—”
“Oh my god, please ignore them. They’re antsy because they want Rora and my uncle Henry to get married, that’s all.”
“They don’t want to?” Shay asks, unclipping my bra and sliding it from my body.
“They do—fuck. Do we have to talk about this while you have your tongue all over me?”
I feel her lips curve up in a smile against my breast. “I can stop.”
“You better not,” I gasp. “Okay, yeah, they do want to get married. They’re just focused on having another baby first.”
Shay hums, and I clench my fists as sparkles appear behind my eyelids. “Makes sense. What about you?”
“What about me?”
She nudges me backward so I’m lying on the bed, and the ends of her hair brush against my naval as she descends, kissing lower and lower.
“Do you want to get married?”
I can’t believe she expects me to be able to concentrate, let alone carry on a conversation,thisconversation, when she’s gripping my thighs like that.
“Um, yes? Yes, I do. But it’s also not a dealbreaker for me if you don’t want to get married again. Not that I think you want to marrymeor anything, but?—”
“I do.”
She gives me about half a second to process that before she pushes my jeans down, my underwear aside, and drags her tongue through my lips, flicking the tip over my clit.
“Oh my god,” I groan, grabbing a pillow and practically smothering myself with it.
Shay seems to take my muffling solution as a challenge, increasing the speed and pressure of her tongue. I reach for her, my fingers gripping her hair, my legs closing around her. Shay moans, and I find myself rolling my hips without even meaning to, fucking her face.
She teases my entrance with her tongue, pressing the tip inside me while she pushes her thumb firmly on my clit. I don’t know how she’s learned my body so well, so quickly, but she plays me like I’m an instrument, and she’s a prodigy. Every single brush of her fingers, every touch of her tongue, feels intentional, designed specifically to undo me, stitch by stitch.
My body is burning, Shay’s touch consuming me. But not so much that my mind isn’t playing two words on repeat:
“I do.”
She wants to get married. She wants to marryme, specifically. The thought tips me over the edge—well, I suppose it’s more a combination of the woman I love wanting to marry me, and the same woman pressing two fingers inside me, closing her mouth around my clit, and humming.
I break apart like glass, crying into the pillow, my back bowing off the bed. Shay drags her tongue over me, slowing but not stopping her fingers as they massage inside me.
“Je suis tellement putain d’obsédée par ton goût.”I swear I almost come again as the French falls from her lips.
Shay pulls me back together, coaxing me down from my high with soft kisses against my clit. My body goes limp, my legs slipping down her back, and I drop the pillow, drawing in a deep breath.
Shay sits back, and I push myself up on my elbows, trying to catch my breath.
“Shay.”
