Page 62 of Price of Angels

She did, peeling it up and over her head, letting it fall to the bed beside her. She’d worn the red bra again, the one she’d used half a paycheck to order from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue along with the matching panties.

Michael liked it: she saw it in the twitch of his eyelids, the fast glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue as he wet his lips. He let his eyes rove over the lace and satin creation a moment, the way it lifted and shaped her. She felt his heart, thundering against the soft inside of her thigh where his chest was pressed to her.

Then he nodded: time for the bra to go, too.

When she reached back to unclasp it, her chest was thrust forward, toward his face. She felt his breath against her skin. She unfastened the clasp, let the straps fall, pulled the cups away, and then laid the bra down on top of her shirt.

The fear came again, a fast stab, because now she was exposed.

But the harshness in his face was different from all that she’d known. The way he was lower than her, kneeling in front of her, that was different too. And when his hands lifted, she could only watch, fascinated, as they closed over her breasts.

She waited for the pawing. The brutal squeezing. Holding her breath.

But instead, he cupped the heavy weights in his palms, kneaded lightly at the undersides, a massage that stirred at the heat in her belly. He shaped her breasts, petted them, his hands looking dark against the round softness.

His thumbs found her nipples, circled them, and they drew up into tight, aching buds. He pressed them, flicked at them.

“Michael,” she gasped. “You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do.”

And his head came forward, and his breath feathered across her raised nipple before he took it into his mouth with a small, wet sucking sound.

The jolt of sensation was incredible. “Oh.” Her arms locked and her neck tightened. She glimpsed his head at her breast and felt the warm suction of his mouth, and the fear burned away. She let her head fall back, the weight of her hair pulling at her, no match for the force of his tongue pulling at her nipple, hard, forceful suckling, like he was nursing from her.

The tight spiral of tension in her unwound and slithered to a place deep in her belly, where it began to reform, coiling again in a way that made her breath rough and choppy.

He was relentless, pulling away only so that he could nuzzle her other breast, drawing that nipple between his lips, too.

She didn’t realize her legs had tightened until she felt his hands on her thighs, urging them wider. She lifted her head to protest; she needed something, anything, even if it was just squeezing her knees together to soothe the thumping pulse in her sex.

But the words died on her tongue when she looked at him.

He pulled back, her nipples wet and glittering from his mouth, and Holly realized that she’d been straining toward him with her hips, that the warmth right up against her came from his chest. His hands were on her thighs, intimately high, up under the edges of her shorts. His expression was ferocious, all angles and sharp shadows.

“Lie back,” he told her, and his hand came up to press at her belly, urging her to comply.

She did, marveling in the feel of rough skin and gentle touch as his hand shifted down her stomach, to the waistband of her shorts. Now would come the moment when he climbed on top of her, and came inside her, and she was ready. The comforter was plush beneath her back, and the warm air was stirring against all her aroused skin, and however it went, this had all been beyond her wildest dreams.

A hard tug from both his hands, and her shorts and panties were gone, skimming down over her ankles, catching at her shoes. Those were wrenched off with fast, efficient gestures. And then the hands were back, smoothing across the tender insides of her thighs, that low, flat span of belly just above the hungry, wet part of her she didn’t understand right now.

Then his fingers were against her, stroking her, skimming through the wetness. Then parting her, stroking deeper.

Holly made an incoherent sound. Her face was hot and she was quivering all over. There was something bold and obscene about the careful way he was touching her, working slowly until one long finger was inside her. It was deliberate, and it felt so very good, and she hadn’t expected it.

But why was he still down there on his knees? Why hadn’t he already pounced on her?

“Michael–” She gasped.

Something else was touching her now, something warm and soft, and there was this faint prickling, scratching…

She pushed up on her elbows and glanced down her naked body, gasping again when she saw what he was doing.

He head was bent over her. It was his mouth she felt against her sex.

“Michael…” She didn’t want this. She didn’t think she did. She didn’t know… “What are you…?”

“Down,” he told her, a rough growl, and then his mouth opened against her and she felt his tongue.

---