Page 247 - The Love Hypothesis

“Wouldn’t you rather—”

A nip. “No.”
“I didn’t even say—”
He glanced up. “There isn’t anything I’d rather do.”

“But—”
He sucked on one of her lips with a loud, wet noise, and she gasped.

And then his tongue was inside her, and she moaned, half in surprise, half at
the feeling of— Yes.

Yes.
“Fuck,” someone said. It wasn’t Olive, so it must have been Adam.

“Fuck.” It felt incredible. Otherworldly. His tongue, dipping in and out,
circling and lapping, and his nose against her skin, and the quiet sounds he
made from deep in his chest whenever she contracted, and Olive was going

to—she . . .
She wasn’t sure she was going to come. Not with another person in the

room touching her. “This might take a while,” she said apologetically,
hating how thin her voice sounded.

“Fuck, yes.” His tongue swiped the entirety of her, a long, broad stroke.
“Please.” She didn’t think she’d ever heard him quite this enthusiastic about

anything, not even grant writing or computational biology. It kicked the
whole thing a few notches higher for her, and it got worse when she noticed
his arm. The one that wasn’t cupping the cheek of her ass and holding her

open.
He hadn’t taken himself out of his pants yet, that Olive could see, and

wasn’t that unfair, since she was all splayed open for him. But the way his
arm was shifting, how his hand was moving up and down slowly, that was

just unbearable. She arched further, her spine shaping a perfect curve as the
back of her head hit the pillow.

“Olive.” He leaned back a few centimeters and kissed the inside of her
shaking thigh. Took a deep breath with his nose, as if to hold the smell of
her within himself. “You can’t come yet.” His lips brushed against her folds

as his tongue dipped in again, and she squeezed her eyes shut. There was a
liquid, burning heat blossoming in her tummy, spilling all over her. Her