Just as quick, she felt her jeans give at the waist and heard the zipper rasp as he yanked it down. He quickly peeled her pants off her legs. “Ty?” she asked, knowing what he intended since he left her top completely alone. She quickly found herself sitting at the edge of the sofa, her legs draped over the tops of his shoulders. The inky blackness that surrounded them leant a feeling of unreality—like she was dreaming. The sounds of his breaths and the creak of the leather beneath her bottom seemed louder, filled with a ripening tension that brought her past dreamy pleasure straight to the blackest, hottest sense of eroticism she’d ever felt. Fear heightened her sensitivity so that when his thick thumbs parted her outer lips, she jerked and released a startled cry. “Ty?” she repeated and reached between her legs to grab his hair. “Talk to me.” “Can’t. Have to taste,” he said, his voice so gravelly it was almost unrecognizable. “Jesus,” she gasped when his tongue, strangely wide and roughened, lapped between her legs from asshole all the way up to her clit.
