Page 82 of The Healer

When he trailed a kiss along her cheek to her ear, she grabbed the opportunity to breathe. “T-shirt. Off. Now.”

He jerked up and whipped it off, then pressed her into the mattress again. On a hum, she scraped her nails across every inch she could reach. She savored his velvety skin beneath her fingers. With a guttural groan, he swooped in and claimed her mouth. The way he dominated her snatched her ability to breathe, to think. She ached, as if the earlier orgasm had done nothing to alleviate the throbbing between her thighs.

His hand on her bare stomach made her whimper. She wiggled, rubbing her core along his thigh nestled between her legs.

“Fuck, you’re driving me wild, Lona.”

Her shirt disappeared, her bra followed, but she didn’t mind, not when the heat of his palms toyed with her nipples. She arched, wanting more of him, his touch. His chest left her. She flicked her eyes open to ogle him as he yanked off his boots and jeans. He wore no boxers or briefs. She gasped at that discovery. His erection twitched under her perusal. Fuck me, James, he is gorgeous.

A tug on her leg made her laugh when he removed her jeans, sliding them off her, but leaving on her panties. He crawled across the bed, stroking his chest along her knees, thighs, and stomach. He grinned and snatched a kiss before throwing himself next to her. He rested his hand on her thigh. She trembled, wishing she could wiggle and steer his touch to where she needed it the most. When he did nothing but lie there, smiling at her, she arched a brow.

“You’re as beautiful as I imagined.”

She wasn’t—her breasts were too small, her hips too wide, but she shoved those thoughts aside. Her internal voice wasn’t her friend.

He dipped his head, scraping his chin along her neck, her collarbone, and across one nipple. She moaned, gripping the comforter, relishing the texture of his beard. He wrapped his hot mouth around a nipple and sucked hard. Crying out, she arched off the bed as fire lanced from her breast to her core, to her clit. She ached, needed, couldn’t he see that?

While he suckled and swirled his tongue, he slid a hand up her thigh to cup her mons through her panties. He growled, the sound vibrating along her chest and spreading outward.

Pinching and massaging her sex, he continued to suckle her nipples, trailing wet paths between them. Waves of merging sensations, emotions, catapulted against her nerve endings, stoking fire and anticipation.

She whimpered when he released a nipple to watch himself slide his hand into her panties.

One finger between her lips, brushing along her clit, shot her hips up.

“I want to cherish this moment, Lona, but I want you. So much you can’t possibly know, sweetheart.”

She nodded, biting her lip to stop herself from begging. As enticement, she spread her thighs wider, granting him more access. His breath caught, and he slipped off the bed, coming around to crawl between her legs. He looped his fingers around the elastic of her panties and peeled them off her.

Shoving his backside in the air, he arched to bury his nose, brushing it across her clit until she moaned, unable to stop her hips from gyrating. When he stroked a path from her clit to her vaginal opening, she writhed, her breathing coming in gasps. He latched onto her clit, suckling as he had done to her nipples, while dipping his finger into her channel.

The sensations were too much, too overwhelming and glorious. She crushed the linen in her fists. An orgasm crashed into her, and she called his name, thrashing, letting her body ride it, to experience a feverish, ecstatic moment.

His chest rubbed across her sensitive nipples, and his weight pressed her still.

“Your taste is nectar, Lona-love.” He kissed her cheek, chin, nose, then her lips, sharing the tart flavor of her orgasm.

But with the head of his erection pressing at her weeping core, she spread her thighs wider, urging him on. He slid into her inch by inch, his body trembling where he held himself off her. His gaze locked onto hers, and something warm, dark, and intense flickered across his face. Her heart twanged again, but before she could ask, he dropped and buried his face into the curve of her neck.

He withdrew and thrust into her, groaning and grunting. She savored the sensation of his hard erection stretching her vagina and rubbing along her inner walls. Each thrust sparked a wave of heated joy through her, and she tightened her legs around his hips, urging him on with her heels digging into his sexy gluteus maximi.

Emotion bubbled up, a wave of endorphins gripped her, and she opened her mouth to confess she loved him, then bit her tongue. Tears leaked at the too-intense emotion, so she clung to him and gave him every reaction, hoping to convey what she felt for him.

As he ramped the pace, another orgasm rippled along the edges, tugging her toward that metaphorical cliff. Eager, greedy, she succumbed. He twisted to meet her gaze, and smiled, then swooped in to kiss her. He grabbed her legs, rested them along his chest, and leaned forward, changing the angle of his thrusts. Overwhelmed, her senses exploded. Screaming, she threw herself off the cliff, lost in intense joy, as if he had discovered a part of her that had never been touched.

He froze, his eyes widened, and he roared, shuddering as an orgasm tore through him. Pinning her in place, only his hips jerked. His mouth curved into the most satisfied smile she had ever seen. He released her legs, and when she lowered them, slivers of belated ecstasy rippled along her core. His moan echoed hers, and he collapsed on top of her.

“Amazing.”

She nodded.

He shook his head. “No, you’re fucking amazing.” His grin was bright, bold, and breathtaking. “And you’re mine, Ilona Devereaux Strickland.”

Forcing a chuckle, she dipped her head to hide a new wave of warmth lambasting her cheeks. By doing so, she squashed her lips against his shoulder, so followed the action with a kiss.

His shiver was its own reward.

He rose, holding himself off her in a push-up. “Say it.”

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