Page 56 of Wrath
Snarling with impatience, he found the top of her waistband and tugged her pants down. She lifted her hips enough for him to get them over her ass, and then she helped kick them off the rest of the way. He sat back on his heels to study her, bare and pale under the falling sky.
Stunning. So fucking beautiful, and he wanted her with an irrational fury, a fever possessed desire. It had never been like this with Sara—the second her name entered his thoughts, he pushed her away. Done. He was done comparing, done thinking of her.
Misha. Misha his bright bubbling goddess. His infernal drug. The woman who had his heart and didn’t like waiting for it. He smiled when she gave a bark of protest at his pause and rose to meet him. Mouth crashing against his, she tore at his jeans with impatient hands, desperate to get into them. The button popped, the zip came down, and she pulled his length out, heavy and hard into her hands.
He groaned, eyes rolling in pleasure as she stroked him.
Misha, Misha.
Then quickly, rashly, he pushed her down and irreverently kicked off his jeans. He kissed down her neck, licking and tasting the water pooling on her skin. From the dip in her collar bone to the valley between her breasts. His fingers found her nipples, and she arched into his calloused touch.
“Wyatt,” she begged and thrust into him, her core meeting his erection.
Impatient. So delightfully impatient.
He grinned against her skin, already making his way down her stomach. He cupped her sex, teasing her gently with a finger while he laved around her belly. She whimpered and pushed back. But he made her wait. His turn to play a game. He slid back up her body, letting their wet skin slip and bump together, then he whispered in her ear and told her all the naughty things he would do to her, how he was going to take his time and make her beg for more.
“You talk dirty,” she groaned, then gripped him by the shoulders, excitement flaring in her eyes. “Oh my God, please tell me you role play too.”
A chuckle rumbled through him and he nuzzled into her. He would do whatever she asked. Fuck, he was falling in love. Maybe he already was. His humor gave way to pure emotion, and he pulled back to stare into her eyes. There was only one thing standing in his way.
“No secrets between us, Misha. Now’s your chance. If there’s anything you need to tell me, do it now.”
Twenty-Six
Misha laybefore the big warrior, naked as the day she was born, and he was worried about secrets between them. They were on top of a water tank in the middle of the city park. Sure, they were far from prying eyes, and it was raining, but there was an element of danger, of arousing urgency. Someone might catch them.
“No,koteczek. You know every dark and dirty thing about me.” She took his hand and placed it between her legs, urging him to continue.
But he didn’t.
He tugged away and pierced her with intense, storm brewing eyes. Then without warning, he gripped her knees and yanked them apart. Misha gasped as rain kissed her intimately. Squirming, her hands rose to find something to latch onto, but found only the edge of the wet rubber mat. It was something, an anchor to steady herself as the first lick of his tongue between her legs set her mind spiraling. She moaned, arching into him.
A strangled sound of satisfaction came from him as he unleashed himself on her. His tongue swirled and twirled and teased. He pushed a finger inside her and pumped. He sucked and devoured with a single-minded ferocity she couldn’t resist.
This man is a god. A fucking sex god.
She must have shouted it, because she felt him chuckle against her flesh before resuming his relentless pace. She wouldn’t last long at this rate. And to think she only wanted one night with him. She threw her head back with abandon as her body tightened, and then, just as he brought her to the edge of insanity, she propped up on her elbows and looked down at him with the irrational urge to take a picture memory, fearing this is all there would be.
Sensing her movement, he glanced up. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture memory. Making sure I don’t forget.”
His eyes flashed with sexual hunger, and then slowly, torturously, he licked a long stroke down her center before resuming his feast. Her vision blurred with climbing bliss. Seeing her man—dark shock of hair, vibrant blue eyes filled with passion—pleasuring her was the most erotic thing she’d ever witnessed. The sight tipped her over the edge. Her climax crashed through her, screaming with intensity.
When she opened her eyes, he’d risen to his knees between her legs, cock jutting proudly. And goodness, it was great. He was great. Every muscle and tendon in his body pulled taut with need until she could see the shape of him beneath his skin. He was strained. So tense. Afraid.
And she knew why.
The last time they’d come together, he’d hurt her—bruised her—in his passion. God damn it, she’d liked it, but she understood his hesitation. She diffused the situation the only way she knew how, with humor.
“And on the sixth day, God created cocks,” she said with an impish grin and lifted herself to take his erection in her hands. She whispered as she stroked, “Don’t overthink it, Wyatt. You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”
He gripped her nape, brows drawing together. Still hesitant.
“You trust me, don’t you?” She stroked him lovingly. “You know I’m telling the truth.”
She guided him down until his tip met her entrance. “Do it,” she challenged.
