Page 12 of Things We Burn

The gesture, the wildness of it, the intensity of his tongue now at my clit broke me apart. I didn’t know what sounds I made, if I made any sounds. It would’ve been impossible for me not to since I needed some way to release the pleasure that overwhelmed my entire body.

I didn’t know how long it lasted, but I knew that Kane’s tongue was still there, his mouth was still there, meeting the thrusts of my hips, the quivers of my body.

Slowly, I came down, and the room reappeared around me. My eyes opened, and I looked downward. Kane was still in between my legs, his eyes locked on mine.

Slowly and deliberately, Kane leaned in again and inhaled. I didn’t think my spent body had it in me to do more than breathe heavily, yet I trembled in delight. It was such an unexpected and sensual act. It was … dirty. Magnificent.

In my haze, Kane had traveled up my body, exposing himself enough so his hard, bare cock brushed against the impossibly sensitive flesh on my pussy.

I gasped out loud against his mouth as he braced himself above me with one hand while using the other to drag my leg up the side of his hip, opening myself to him further.

His mouth brushed against mine.

He tasted of me.

Me and him.

And I was someone who used taste as a vehicle for a prestigious career. It was my most utilized sense. And the explosion of us on my tongue was unlike anything I’d ever tasted.

Kane’s expression was something like the cat that ate the canary except the canary was me, and he was no cat. He was a lion.

“Yeah,” he hummed. “You like that.” He pushed his cock against me so my eyes rolled to the back of my head, and my back arched.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ love this, Avery Hart,” he growled.

Before I could question what he meant, he was inside me. His cock filled me, to the brim.

Instead of clawing at the no doubt expensive rug I was lying on—I was beingfuckedon—I slipped my hands underneath Kane’s tee to claw at his back. He hissed in pain—and hopefully, pleasure—and drilled into me harder.

I tore at the skin of his back like I was a frenzied animal. Because I felt like an animal. That’s what our coupling had made me. I’d been stripped down to the core, exposing that I was just a hedonistic creature, ripping at him in lust, desire.

Kane was relentless in his thrusts.

“Harder,” I groaned.

Kane didn’t hesitate to heed my command.

He slammed into me so I saw stars. So impossibly hard that my spent body tensed again, coiling up. He was big. Very big. On the verge of uncomfortably large. Especially with the power in which he was pummeling into me.

But the discomfort somehow made it rawer; it took the edge off a pleasure that might’ve been too much otherwise.

It turned out, I needed a little pain with my pleasure.

In other words, he was made for me.

Kane’s face hovered over mine, his mouth touching mine but not exactly kissing me. We were close, breathing, panting into each other’s mouths. Another animalistic, carnal thing that shouldn’t have been as impossibly sexy as it was.

I was no longer clawing at his back, my hands were just resting there. My hips were meeting his, thrust for thrust, chasing the orgasm I didn’t feel like I would survive.

The rug was burning the exposed skin of my back. More pain. The perfect balm to the overwhelming pleasure, to carry me a little longer.

Part of me wanted to stay there, on the floor of that brownstone, with a rug burning my back, with Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes inside of me, on the edge of an orgasm that would ruin me. I didn’t want to go back to my life. The one I loved. The career that was more than my passion. It was my identity.

I wanted to stay there, on the floor with a stranger inside of me for reasons I couldn’t fathom.

But as stubborn as I was, I wasn’t in control at that moment. Something bigger than me was. So Kane’s thrusts took me over the edge. When I cried out, his mouth covered mine. There was a grunt against my lips as I milked Kane of his own release.

I lost all sense of time, of place, of anything but the waves crashing over me.

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