Beneath

21 TASTE ME

C A M I L A

Finally.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, sealing off the cacophony of the party, I was nothing but ready. As he cradles my face, breathing my air, I cup him with a hand through his sweats and relish the way his hips buck into my touch. It's trust. It's touch. I didn't ever correlate the two.

So, very softly, I ask, "Can you tell me what you want, Noah?"

"I want you to be mine. That's it."

"Like your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, we can start with that."

I press myself closer, my hands sliding up his chest. "Okay, I just have to tell the other three guys I'm—"

He cuts me off with a groan. "You test me."

I dip my fingers beneath his waistband. "That's what you like about me. Tell me what you want."

"Camila," he breathes, his hands sliding under my shirt, exploring the bare skin of my back.  "I want you on your knees."

"You read my mind."

With as much grace as I can muster, I sink to the floor, looking up at him from under my lashes. He's beautiful standing above me, shadowed, muscled, strong, scarred. I sit back on my heels, waiting, and feel a seam in my jeans give under my weight. I can't find it in me to care.

I lean up and slip my hands under his grey hoodie, raking my fingers from his chest to his abs, revelling in how quickly his breathing shifts. His arms raise again, gripping two shelves, tight.

Before he can do something like stop me, I reach for the hem of his sweatpants and tug them down. I set my lips to his hip bone, kissing once. Such hot, smooth skin. I keep pulling them down inch by agonizing inch until the length of him springs free. For a really long moment, I just stare, my lips parted.

"I feel the same way about you," he says.

I don't bother explaining I've never tried this. I don't even contemplate it. We're here, we want each other, and that's what makes it perfect. So I brace a hand on the shelves and wrap the other around his thigh, flicking my tongue out the run under the curve of him to start. His head slams back into the wall with a groan. His skin is smooth, silky, and warm. It reminds me of the curve of his neck. The veins of his forearms.

"Camila—" I think he's trying to say something.

I do believe that's a point for me.

Noah falls forward, the shelves shaking under his grip. He's thrust further into my mouth and I go with it, sucking him deeper, earning a growl that reverberates all around me, touches every inch of my skin. I do the best I can, but gag, my eyes watering.

I pull back, panting. "Am I doing okay?" I ask, catching my breath.

His hands are still gripping the shelves, knuckles white. "Camila, you're perfect. Are—are your knees okay? Are you okay?"

My laugh is part nerves, part lust. I'm just fine, so I wrap my lips around him again, taking him deeper this time. He cups my jaw, the tips of his fingers threading into my hair. So gently, so careful. It helps me relax my throat and take him as far back into my mouth as I can. His groans are a symphony.

"So good, baby. So fucking good." His fingers play with my hair as he watches me with a flaming gaze. "I'm close." His face shifts into pure, pained lust as he grips his hair, head tilting back. "Cam... Cam." He's warning me, but it's okay. I feel it all, taste the salt, and swallow the moment.