He kissed down her stomach. Her hip. Her inner thigh.

She felt his breath against her and felt the anticipation of it — specific and sharp — and gripped the sheets.

His mouth found her.

She cried out — immediate and sharp, her head back, her fingers in his hair — and he worked her slowly and completely, his tongue warm and deliberate on her clit, his hands holding her thighs open. She felt everything — the lamplight, the Saturday, him — and stopped thinking about anything else.

He pushed two fingers inside her and she gasped, her walls clenching immediately, her hips lifting toward him. He curled them —...