Throwing caution to the wind, I take Jason’s hands and guide them to my breasts, his gruff curse making my nipples peak tighter. “I can’t remember where the paintbrush went, Jason.” I whisper, helping him squeeze me. “I don’t know if there are butterflies under my panties or not.”

His body falls into mine, pressing me to the wall as his hands rake down my sides, fingers tucking into the sides of my underwear. Tugging, almost ripping in their haste to peel them down my hips. Jason makes strangled sounds in my ears, his chest shuddering when gravity takes over and the panties slip to my knees. “Either way, I’m going to tongue fuck the shit out of you, baby. No butterflies mean no one else saw that pussy and I’ll let you come faster. That’s the difference.”

Drawing breath is almost impossible as Jason leans his upper half away and lifts the gray T-shirt so he can look at my sex. So he can look at my sex. Am I really doing this? Letting a man take liberties with me in public? Yes. Yes, I am. And I don’t have a choice in the matter anymore, because if he stopped touching me right now, I think I would go the way of my scruples and evaporate.

“Not a drop of paint on this beauty. Good girl,” Jason rasps, hunkering down until he’s eye level with the most intimate part of me. I’m partial to my blonde landing strip, even though it’s outdated, and Jason seems to like it too. Oh Lord, does he ever. He presses his face against me and inhales, robbing me of a gasp. One hand finds the inside of my thigh and rides higher, higher until only an inch separates him from my core. “Wishing I was inside this pussy of yours has cost me a lot of fucking sleep,” he says, easing his tongue out to nudge my feminine lips. Light. So light. But a bomb might as well be going off inside me. “Ready to make nice now?”

Is he talking to me or my vagina?

The answer is yes either way, but I’m not given the opportunity to find out, because Jason pulls me close, urging my legs over his shoulders and…he stands up. My back hits the concrete wall—much higher up than before—of the alley, and the warm friction of Jason’s tongue bathes me between the thighs. “Jason,” I heave, grabbing for his head, intending to push him away, but dragging him closer instead. “Oh my goodness.”

I’ve never been a fan of cunnilingus. It’s always been kind of a formality. A way for the gentleman to assure himself he’s doing the right thing before the main event. But I’ve always been too self-conscious to enjoy it. Am I making the right noises? Did I miss a spot while shaving? What in God’s name is he thinking about? None of those questions occur to me now, because I’m quite simply being eaten. Jason mouth moves as if he’s savoring a ripe orange, determined to reach every part of me with his tongue, his hands on my bottom pulling me closer for his attention.

He stays on the surface, laving that bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue until I’m pressing my head back into the wall and crying out, the muscles at the juncture of my thighs clenching tight. And he watches me like the pleasure is all his. As if he’s selfish for my taste. His obvious enjoyment cuts the final string on my reservations and lets me sink into the moment. Let’s me stop worrying about what happens next and whether or not I look, sound, taste sexy enough. Jason’s hunger for more is blatant. I’m more than enough…I’m exactly what he wants.

Exhilaration rides down my spine and settles there, turning my hips restless. Oh. Oh, this is moving so quickly. My nipples ache so badly I can do nothing but feel myself up through the gray T-shirt, pinching the tight points between my knuckles. The action starts a wicked tug between my legs, right where Jason is licking me, and the need for relief swells another story higher. He watches me play with my nipples and growls, jerking me closer to his mouth by my backside, and I scream inside my throat when his tongue slides inside me deep. The intimacy of it starts a tremor somewhere inside me that has never been discovered. Oh Lord. It’s happening. I’ve never actually had an orgasm this way. Getting to that point usually takes a lot of finger work and mental commands to stop obsessing…not this time.

“Jason. S’happening.”

Did I just say that?

His only response is to find my clit and flicker his tongue against it, hooded eyes on me…and then his middle finger slides inside, easing in and out slowly, before moving faster, faster. An unfamiliar crescendo builds, the pressure divine and a curse at the same time.

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