Page 82 of Resurfaced Passion
“I need you,” she confessed and watched his eyes flash.
Her jeans and underwear were gone. Tossed onto the floor along with her booties and jacket. Before she knew it, Paige was naked and watching Reaper yank his shirt over his head by grabbing it from the back. Yummy, yummy.
He dropped to his knees and latched his mouth between her legs.
Sucking.Sucking.Ughn. He had the best mouth.
His suck sent her woozy, consumed in instant pleasure.
He wasn’t cautious. He didn’t give her testing licks. He just covered her mound with his full, wet mouth and he gave her the most intimate French kiss of all. When he pushed her folds open with his thumbs and kissed her inside, that’s when Paige catapulted into another dimension.
Belatedly realizing they were surrounded by men just outside that flimsy door he hadn’t even locked, she shoved both hands over her mouth and cried out as her body froze in mid-thrust just as Reaper slid two fingers deep inside her, curling hard into her G-spot.
“Just testing how badly I hurt you, baby.” Those fingers moved in and out slowly on her tender, swollen flesh. She could have had a vagina that looked like she’d been attacked by a bear and she wouldn’t have stopped his fingers from entering her, because around the soreness came the unimaginable pleasure of being handled by him.
It was like a remembered dream, or a memory she’d forgotten, but this feeling was familiar, her body recognized how good it felt and she knew she was addicted to it.
“It’s good,” she mumbled behind her hand and heard him chuckle, her head lifted to see him watching her.
“Ah, baby, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Lick. Lick. His tongue moved from top to bottom and back up to herwantingclit which throbbed in his mouth. Paige leaned back on a hand, keeping the other locked firmly in Reaper’s hair, stroking his scalp while she watched the decadent sight of his blond head between her thighs, his so-wide shoulders pressed between to keep them apart. “Never want to hurt you,” he murmured, maybe to her? Maybe to her clit. Either way Paige giggled. “but I need to make you come.”
Please, god.She’d pay him ten million gigolo dollars for him to make her come.
No sex in years and now she was practically writhing against the man’s face to get her some. Legs spread wider, he threw her calves over his shoulders, she cried out, blind to anything but the way he orchestrated her body.
It was an embarrassingly short amount of time from start to finish and when she came her whole body froze up and she…oh, wow… she gushed out of her sex as his two fingers fucked against her G-spot over and over, tormenting that secret cushiony part of her libido. His mouth wasn’t gentle, eating her brutally with tongue, lips and even his teeth to shoot shards of electricity through her and the pleasure went on and on, her bones felt like they were breaking it was too good.
She couldn’t look, she let her head go back to the bed, so damn pleasured and a little shy, she listened instead to his growls of encouragement and his “fuck, baby yeah, that’s my fucking girl.”
He finished by kissing her sex before he prowled over her, caging her body, making her look up at him.
Her body felt like it had been spun dry.
His arms came up beside her head, and he dropped his face close to hers. He was beautiful, Paige thought. Not in that typical boy band gorgeous. He had lines, a rugged olive tan, his nose wasn’t perfectly straight, but she found him utterly, completely, no question about it beautiful. So beautiful her belly tightened in lust, borderline love filled clutches.
Without waiting, she stole her hands around his bare chest, then to hold onto his back. She loved his skin and the big continuous tattoo that covered half of his body. Vines, distorted flowers, skulls, knives, A huge Harley roped around one arm, clocks, even a cute bird but smack dab in the middle of his chest was a colorful ladybug—the only color that adorned his tattoos—wrapped in black shaded hearts and cradled in two hands.
Paige had traced her finger over his ribs last night, drawing the bug with the tip and though Reaper had watched her, he’d looked pained.
“Are all of these random?” She asked now. Dancing her fingers against his ribs again. He settled in the crook of her legs, his face hovering, eyes unreadable.
“Some.”
“And this?” He looked down at her finger over the bird.
“It’s the kiwi bird. Where I’m from.”
“And these?” The clocks.
“To remind me time is momentary.” His lips moved across her temple, down her cheek.
Her heart fluttered.
“And this one?” Almost as if he knew the exact spot she was touching without looking, he stilled, his lips on hers. “Is this ladybug important, Reaper?”
“Yeah, it’s what I called her,” he croaked, and she knew then, the tone and agony in his voice, she knew, and she felt her own heart tug for him. She softened her voice, stroked the ladybug tattoo again before curling her hand in his hair. “That one is for your wife?” He nodded, eyes raking her face. “You can talk about her you know? I don’t mind.” Maybe alittle, but she was a grown up, he’d had a wife, one he loved very much, it was something she had to deal with if she wanted a relationship with him.
“Not now.” He said finally, pressing his lips down on hers, harder. “Not like this.” He rolled to his side, sat up and plucked her up, placing Paige on his lap, holding her delicately.
