Page 107 of Blue

He was a glorious canvas of artwork. Her mouth watered. But it had nothing to do with the cured meat he’d made and everything to do with the man who’d cooked it.

Shirtless, the colors of his full back piece caught her attention. They were perfectly outlined over the lean muscle of his shoulder blades and down his spine. His loose flannel pants hung low on his hips. Beneath the fabric were the delicious rounded globes of his ass. She loved to dig her fingers into it when he fucked her.

The thought made her shiver with anticipation.

Mooky turned, holding a bottle of maple syrup in his hand, wearing a mischievous look. His sparse chest hair did little to hide the runes and Viking longboat covering his chest.

Cocking her head to the side, she peered at him while he stalked the three steps toward her. Her breath hitched when he slapped his hands on her thighs. “You’re still wearing too much,” he announced as he put the syrup beside the can of whipped cream.

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She agreed.

Talented fingers undid the button of her jeans before sliding down the zipper. With a tap to her hip, she lifted her ass, and he unceremoniously divested her of her skinny jeans and panties with several yanks.

“This is the look I like,” he said as he positioned himself between her spread thighs, running his flaming fingers up her legs again. The scorching tingles left in their wake tickled her from pussy to brain. She’d gone from hungover to sex drunk.

His gaze followed his hands up her legs, her belly, her chest, over her breasts, across her collarbone. He held her neck for a moment, and the rush flushed through her until his hands made their way to cupping her face. When their gazes met again, he looked as though he were starved for her.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, reaching for him.

With a chortle, he placed his palm on the center of her chest. “I will,” he promised as he coaxed her back farther and farther until she lay flat. “Perfect.”

Palming her breasts, he leaned over her, and she closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of his hands massaging her. Blue lifted her arms over her head and moaned as she squeezed him between her thighs. Her brain short-circuited, only able to focus on Mooky, his hands, and how worshipped she felt.

“Cereal isn’t breakfast,” he said calmly. “Pancakes. Now those are breakfast.” He plucked at one nipple and then the other, making her squirm.

Every one of his touches zinged. Any thoughts she had about coffee, breakfast, or even what she’d do that day had vanished from her head. All that mattered was the moment. She focused on his hands and where he’d take them next.

“I like a little syrup on my pancakes,” he whispered before she heard the click of a cap.

The cool gel of the sticky, maple-flavored liquid drizzling on her skin made her gasp. Concentric circles fell onto her right breast before his fiery tongue followed.

“Dear sweet baby Jesus,” Blue hissed as she reached up, dragging her fingers through his hair, and shuddered.

Throwing her head back, she arched her back again, whimpering as Mooky lapped, suckled, and kissed every inch of her breast, purposely avoiding her nipple, and it made her toes curl. She must have died last night. Alcohol poisoning or something. This was pure heaven. Between the property vest, waking in his bed in this house of his, and now this syrup breast sucking foreplay. This was paradise.

Or was it hell? She craved more, but he would only give her enough to make her crazy. She wanted, no, needed everything he offered.

Teeth grazed her nipple, and she jolted, waking her senses. “Fuck! Christ!” She clamped her thighs around him and ground her cleft against him. Her brain was about to short-circuit from the teasing.

He laughed and bit again. Softer this time, but she was sensitive. It didn’t matter. It felt the same. Breathing heavily, she squealed and squirmed, unable to focus on anything else.

Tightening her grip on the fistfuls of hair she had, she bucked her hips against him. “You’re killing me,” she whimpered despite already knowing she had passed onto the spirit world. He brought his hands to hers and eased them out of his hair, laying them above her head gently before releasing her.

Dragging his teeth along the fleshy part of her breast before he pulled back, he smacked his lips together. He peered down at her with that same hungry look of a wolf in the henhouse. “After I put on the syrup, I always add the whipped cream,” he said as he reached for the can.

Pffffzzzzzz.

Before she could react, her left breast looked like a snow-capped mountain.

Blue gave him another hearty squeeze with her thighs as she bit her lower lip. He had to be out of his mother-fucking mind. Did he really think she’d be able to handle another breast worship session?

“Open,” he ordered.

Without a second thought, she did her best impression of a baby bird. Pffffzzzzzz. Once her mouth was filled with white sugary cream, he started his slow divine torture of her breast, and she shook beneath him while swallowing her treat.

“I can’t take much more of this,” she admitted in a pathetic whimper.

Mooky flicked his tongue back and forth against her nipple, making her twitch in time with it as his hand slid down her side and between her thighs and their joined bodies. She gasped, seeing stars when his fingers delved along her folds to graze her sensitive nubbin, just enough to have her all but crying beneath him.

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