Page 44 of Rebel Hawke

I squeeze my eyes closed and tighten my grip on the comforter, undulating underneath him, shifting and seeking something…but I don’t know what.

All this is too new.

The sensations so unfamiliar.

This attention overwhelming in the best way possible.

He kisses and sucks at my flesh, probing his tongue in and out of me, alternating that with vicious flicks against my clit before he slips two fingers inside me. “Fucking hell, Wren.” Hereleases an approving groan against my damp core. “You taste fucking incredible. Your pussy’s so fucking sweet, so fucking hot, and so fucking tight. I can’t wait to slide my cock into you.”

His words make me clench around him, and something flutters low in my belly.

The first spark.

One that never seems to fully ignite except at my own hand.

My body tenses immediately, and Atlas lifts his head, stilling his hand, with his brow furrowed. “You still with me, Little Bird?”

God, yes. I want to be.

I force myself to relax and let out a shaky, uneven breath. “Y-yes…”

It must be convincing enough because he dips his head again, curls his fingers deep inside me, and starts thrusting and dragging them with every retreat. He sucks my clit between his lips again, pulsing on it in time with his ministrations.

Oh hell…

My head thrashes as he devours me. As a racing heat floods through my body, attacking me the same way the flames once did. Only these don’t hurt. They wrap around me, cocooning me in bliss while leaving me searching for something so close but out of reach.

He shows me no quarter, just like he doesn’t offer any to his opponents.

But that isn’t what I am.

This isn’t a fight.

At least, it shouldn’t be.

Yet, somehow, it simultaneously feels like I’m losing and winning in this battle against Atlas.

He seems to have lost all control, yet somehow is in it.

Pinning me in place.

Taking what he wants while also giving me the type of pleasure I’ve never experienced in my entire life.

“Oh, God, Atlas. I’m going to—I need—”

I have no fuckingcluewhat I need.

Justmore—of this.

Ofhim.

He growls low against my flesh and draws on my clit harder, pulsing and dragging his fingertips inside me rapidly in the same spot until the white-hot wash of orgasm blasts through me.

I arch against his hold.

Twisting my hands into the fabric beneath me.

Thrusting.

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