Page 55 of Unlikely

“You’re making such a mess on my leg,” she says into my ear. “I wonder what’ll feel like on my face.”

Every word that comes out of her mouth sets my body ablaze. Her lips trail down my neck, kissing and sucking my skin as she makes her way to my breasts. The first swipe of her tongue across my nipple has me arching off the bed. She alternates between each breast, using her tongue and fingers, sucking and rolling, her touch making my core throb.

She moves farther down my body, and my hands replace her mouth, plucking and rolling my own nipples. When her tongue glides up my center, a loud moan leaves my mouth before I sit back up and lean on my elbows, not wanting to miss the view of her between my legs.

She manages to peer up at me, her dark-brown eyes focused as she feasts on me. I rock against her, moaning as she drags her tongue through my folds.

She pushes my thighs farther apart, stretching me wider as she slides two digits inside of me. My body sags onto the mattress, the pleasure too much to hold myself up. She thrusts her fingers, hard and deep, as she licks and sucks my clit.

My legs tremble, closing around her head as my orgasm coils around my veins, squeezing me so tight, every pulse point pounding before my inevitable release.

“Fuck, Zara,” I cry out as she continues gently circling my clit, the aftershocks of my orgasm turning every nerve ending in my body sensitive and fragile. My chest rises and falls, heavy breaths filling the room, as I try to form a single coherent sentence after the best orgasm of my life.

Zara’s head pops up, eyes blazing, her lips glistening with my arousal. My stomach flutters at the sight of her and how she’s so proud to have my mess on her face. She crawls up my body and I curl my hand around her neck, slamming her mouth to mine, curious to taste myself. It’s unhinged and completely unlike me, and yet I couldn’t foresee myself ever being the same after tonight anyway.

“I don’t taste too bad,” I joke.

She brushes her nose against mine before kissing me again. “You taste like one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

In my life, words are useless, empty, often misspoken, but Zara makes every single one of hers count, no matter what she says, and that includes words that make me feel like I’m on top of the world.

There are too many moments in my life that are memorable for all the wrong reasons, but this isn’t one of them. This realization that a whole other world exists, a place where I feel both inexperienced and welcome all at the same time.

It isn’t an epiphany where the veil has been lifted and suddenly everything in my world starts making complete sense, but it’s the fact that I didn’t see any of this coming, and yet not a single decision I have ever made before this moment ever felt this right.

It’s not even about the sex.

It’s the revelation that I could giveandtake.

The revelation that I could wantandbe wanted.

The revelation that I could feel sexyandsafe.

Sex has never been anything more than just sex for me; it’s transactional. I’ve never felt safe enough to explore my sensuality. But with Zara, the wants, the needs, the outcomes are allmine. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m having a bisexual awakening at twenty-four, or because I’ve finally connected with someone who happens to be a woman.

I don’t have the answer right now, and I also don’t know if I care enough to want it. All I know is I want to spend the rest of the night making this woman feel as good as she’s made me feel.

Giveandtake.

Wantandbe wanted.

Sexyandsafe.

19

ZARA

I’ve been with plenty of women, but none of them had ever turned me on the way Clementine does. I don’t know if it’s the way she’s so responsive to my touch or if it’s the way she makes me feel like a fucking god when she touches me.

I’m not going to lie, there’s something that makes me feel a little unhinged and possessive that I’m the first woman she’s been with. Something that makes me want to be the one and only woman for her. Something that scares and excites me all at the same time.

It’s a premature thought—for so many reasons—and yet I find myself thinking it way too often, and when she’s voluntarily in my space, enjoying my company, like now, it’s all I think about.

We’re naked in my bed, Clementine’s hands roving all over my body, like I’m a shiny new toy that she’s enjoying exploring.

Her hand cups my breast and she starts to slowly strum my nipple with her thumb. The motion has me wanting to gently rock my hips against her, but the expression on her face tells me to hold off, just a little.

My fingers smooth the worry lines between her forehead. “What’s got you playing with my nipple and thinking so hard?”