Page 62 of Fired at the Heart

“Raphael,” I gasp, unable to pretend he doesn’t affect me.

“That’s right,” he croons. “Say my name again.”

Instead, I clench my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Stubborn as ever.” His fingers slow their movement, focusing on my prostate. “But I know how to break that stubbornness.”

He lowers his head, kissing a path down my chest, across my stomach, lower and lower until his breath ghosts over my erection. My muscles tense in anticipation.

“You’re going to come for me.” My stomach flips at his certainty. “You’re going to come for me whether you want it or not.”

He glances up, his pupils blown with a desire that burns as hot as mine. Then his lips touch me, and I choke back a groan.

His tongue flicks over my tip, and I want to lose myself in it, forget every reason I shouldn’t. My hands wind the sheets tighter as he licks a slow line up my shaft. I want to resist, want him to work for it, but Raphael knows how to play me. Always has.

He pulls off me to suck on my hip bone, adding more marks of his ownership on my body. “Stop fighting it. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

“Fuck you,” I gasp out as his fingers curl inside me, and my vision blurs.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Soon enough.”

His mouth returns to my dick, and his lips close around the tip, sucking lightly, just enough pressure to drive me crazy. A short burst of breath escapes my lips, and my legs tremble, my knees lifting, spreading, giving him better access to take me apart.

I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood as Raphael hums, sending vibrations up my spine while his fingers work inside me.

I won’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t.

But my hips betray me, rising to meet his touch as sweat beads on my forehead and chest. I’m burning up from the inside out, each swipe of his tongue, each stroke of his fingers like gasoline on embers.

Raphael sucks harder, taking me into the back of his throat, sending a shockwave pulsing through me, and I can’t help it. I thrust forward, pushing deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. I know he can take it, know he’ll follow wherever I lead, and it fills me with desperation for him.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, and the corners of his lips curl, smug and starving. I hate him for how much I still want this. Want him. The way he holds me, touches me, is so fucking intimate it leaves me stripped bare. And goddammit if it doesn’t feel like I’m finally living again.

His pace increases, and my pulse jumps to match, ricocheting through my body. He sucks me further in and works his hand faster. I’m lost to sensation, the scrape of his stubble on my thighs, the guttural noises in his throat, the heat and friction.

Lost and found.

I pull at the cuffs, wanting to reach for him, to bury my hands in his soft hair. The metal bites into my wrists, but I ignore the pain. I’ll gladly accept whatever he gives if it means he’ll never let go.

I’m almost there.

Almost undone.

His lips release me, a sudden coolness replacing all that was burning. My hips thrust upward, reaching, unwilling to accept the loss.

I catch my breath and glare at him, panting, frustrated.

His free hand travels up my chest, pausing to tease my nipples before continuing to my throat, where my pulse hammers beneath his touch. His palm rests there, a possessive weight that lays claim even to my heartbeat.

“Look at you. So close.” He tracks the flush spreading across my skin. “Already starting to burn up. Your Heat’s coming on fast now.”

I want to deny it, but I can’t with the fever building under my skin, the pre-cum drizzling from my aching dick, the excessive slick between my legs, and the way every touch is magnified.

“There’s my mate,” he croons.

“You’re not my Alpha anymore,” I gasp out, frustrated and desperate.

His hand tightens around my throat enough to leave me gasping. “Say that again while looking at me.”

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