Even as his head moved between her thighs, a niggling thread of anxiety kept pulling her out of the pleasure. She sifted his hair through her fingers, trying to anchor herself in the moment, as his talented tongue worked her lubricated folds.

He toyed, repetitively, with the strap of her garter. She wanted to subdue his hand but couldn’t take the chance that he might simply stop. It had been so unbearably long. Closing her eyes, she sought the fading memory of his insatiable desire for her.

As if granting an unspoken wish, he slid a finger inside her. “So good,” she moaned, with overwhelming relief. His breath was deliciously, meltingly hot against her skin. He nipped sharply at her clit and, suddenly, she was teetering on the edge.

There. Right there. She tensed, begging softly, “Oh, please Babe…”

His phone pinged, interrupting, and he stilled. Pulled up and away. His finger withdrew. As he lifted his head, his shifting eyes betrayed him.

Her aching heart shattered.

Wiping his jaw of her musky cream, he muttered, “I have to get that,” and the damage was absolute.

“Yeah,” she whispered, brokenly, finally acknowledging the immutable truth. He was lost to her.

© 2016 Mairead Devereux. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.