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He finds my clit and circles it. Lightly at first, the tip of his tongue barely teasing, until my hips twitch forward chasing more. His fingers bite into my ass and pin me still.

Then he seals his lips around it and sucks.

I cry out. The sound rings off the high ceiling. He doesn't ease up. He sucks harder, flicking his tongue against the swollen bud until my thighs shake against his ears. When I try to lift away from the intensity, he drags me back down onto his mouth and holds me there.

"Ross—"

He answers by pushing his tongue inside me. He fucks me with it, deep and wet, his nose grinding against my clit with every thrust. I stop holding myself up. My hips move without me, riding his face, grinding against his mouth. The wet sounds of him eating me fill the room, filthy against the soft crackle of the fire.

One hand leaves my ass. Two fingers slide into me where his tongue was, and his mouth returns to my clit. He curls them and searches until he finds the spot that turns the edges of my vision white. He strokes it, steady and deliberate, over and over, while he sucks.

Heat pools low in my belly and coils tighter, spilling down my thighs until they tremble. I'm gasping his name. One hand leaves the sofa and clutches his hair.

I come apart on his mouth. It tears through me in waves. My back bows and my thighs clamp around his head, and my cry breaks into pieces. I pulse around his fingers and spill onto his tongue, and he groans into me and drinks it down. He keeps licking through every aftershock, slower, softer, until I'm twitching and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his head.

He finally lets me go.

I slide down his body, leaving a slick trail along his chest, until I'm sprawled against him with my forehead on his shoulder, breathing like I've run for miles. His chin glistens. He wipes his mouth slowly with the back of his hand, watching me.

I don't give myself time to recover. I slip off the sofa onto my knees. The wool rug is thick and warm from the fire. Ross pushes himself upright, legs spread, and I kneel between them.

I hook his trousers and briefs together and pull. He lifts his hips, and I drag everything down his legs and off. His cock springs free, heavy and flushed, veins running thick along the shaft, the swollen tip already glistening.

I wrap my hand around the base. My fingers don't meet. I stroke him once, root to tip, and a bead of pre-cum rises. I lean in and lick it off.

Ross's head falls back against the sofa. "Fuck."

I take the tip into my mouth, sucking softly, swirling my tongue around the ridge beneath the head. His thighs tense on either side of me. I sink lower, lips stretching around his girth, then draw back up and go down again, deeper each time, my fist working what my mouth can't reach.

His hand comes down on my head. His fingers thread into my hair. Then they tighten into a fist.

"Look at me."

I lift my eyes. His jaw is clenched, his chest heaving.

"Take it."

He pushes my head down. His cock slides over my tongue until the tip hits the back of my throat. I gag. He holds me there a beat, pulls me up by my hair, and shoves me down again. He sets the rhythm, bobbing my head on his length, his hips lifting off the sofa to meet my mouth. Saliva runs down my chin and over my fist. My eyes sting. I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, and the sound he makes goes straight between my legs.

His hips jerk. His grip on my hair turns almost painful.

Then he stops.

He pulls my head back so fast his cock slips from my lips with a wet pop. His stomach clenches. His cock twitches, flushed dark and slick from my mouth.

"No," he says roughly. "Not like this."

He hauls me off the rug by my arms.

"I want to be inside you when I come."

He drags me onto his lap. I straddle his hips, knees sinking into the cushions again. He takes his cock in his fist and rubs the head through my folds, coating himself in me, teasing it over my clit until I whimper.

He lines himself up at my entrance. His other hand grips my hip.

"Sit down."

I sink onto him and the stretch steals my breath. His cock is so thick that I have to stop halfway, my mouth open, my nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn't rush me. His hand slides up my back and holds me, his forehead resting against my collarbone, his breath hot on my skin, while I lower myself another inch. Then another. Until every inch of him is buried inside me and neither of us can move.