Page 33 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Chapter Eight
Emerson
Imight have been a virgin, but I was no prude. I’d been felt up, had a couple of guys go down on me, and I’d given head in return. That wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed, but I did it. Tit for tat, you know?
Greyson was a maestro compared to those bumbling youngsters. Whoever taught him his craft deserved a gold medal. Whoever instructed him on this perfect combination of fingers and tongue should be flitting around wearing a set of glittery wings because I swear, when I came twice, one after the other, angels sang backup to the Marilyn Manson tune wailing from the room’s sound system. Now, now I understand. Every nuance of that damned song suddenly became crystal clear. Dope show, indeed. I was so hopelessly dazed by the drug that is Greyson Finch, it’s as though he’d been injected straight into my veins.
The rough way he handled me steadily increased. In no way was the magnificence of his body dominating mine diluted. The intoxication swelled and grew to an almost unbearable crescendo. Unfathomable, but his disintegrating control excited me and equaled my own. We became wild together, and I was vaguely aware of Greyson’s teeth marking my skin. Nipping various places, sometimes teasingly, sometimes harder until the sharp sting robbed me of breath.
“Why do you taste like sugar cookies and cinnamon?” Biting the indentation of my waist, nibbling the underside of my breasts, my thighs, along my jaw, it was as if he were trying to consume me but couldn’t decide where he should begin. “It’s fuckin’ amazin’.”
“My perfume,” I gasped because his tongue swept over and around the slickness between my legs in a teasing manner. Jesus, would he do that again? It was unlikely I’d survive another round of his mouth on me there. My heart pounded a thousand beats a minute as it was, nearly bursting from the cage shaped by my heaving ribs.
“I love it.”
His head abruptly moved from the junction of my thighs. Leaning over, he grabbed something from the bedside table. A condom. I hadn’t even noticed them until that moment. There must’ve been fifty of the things scattered on that nightstand. Would we use all of them?
God. I hoped so.
“Don’t you want me to… you know… do something for you before we…?” I grabbed his forearm before he tore the foil open. Mossy green in the dim light, Greyson’s eyes were expressive, and I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t see everything he felt. Excitement. Lust. Amusement. Greed.
He rolled off the bed, slowly pulling me to the very edge of the mattress. My butt cheeks nearly hung over the side as he positioned himself between my thighs, spreading them until my knees were bent and far apart. His full lips quirked upward at the sight of me, exposed and waiting for him. I wanted those gorgeous, pouty lips on my body. I didn’t care where… just somewhere… anywhere. I was hot. Achy. Vulnerable. Almost mad with anticipation. He knew it.
“No.” Ripping the package open, Greyson expertly rolled on the condom with one hand. At the sight of his erection, my eyes widened, a frisson of delighted terror blazing a path through every nerve ending I possessed. He was huge and glorious, and I knew this was gonna both hurt and be the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced.
“This isn’t about favors, sweetheart.” Eyes heavy, he stroked himself, staring at me, devouring the parts so vulnerable and wet and begging to be filled. He licked his lips. “I want inside you.” The words were slurred but resolute. He meant every syllable. “Right. Fucking. Now.”
He glided into me before I drew my next breath, his fingers gripping my knees, holding me wide so he could watch his cock disappear into my body. The burning pain was swallowed whole by a sensory overload of fullness and undiluted pleasure. My eyes fluttered shut, then opened at once when he spoke.
“Watch me, sweetheart. I want you watching, want you to know who is inside you. I want you watching as I fill you. So, don’t close your fucking eyes.”
His voice sounded dark. Rough. And I was swarmed with lust. I did as he commanded. My gaze, following his, moved immediately to where we were joined. Now that I saw his flesh invading mine, I truly couldn’t look away. It was fascinating, really, how my body accepted his and adapted. How every part of me resisted before yielding with a softness I never knew I possessed.
This shouldn’t have felt so good, should it? Wasn’t your first time supposed to be agonizing? Like being ripped in two or something? Yes, this stung, and yes, it certainly hurt, but the discomfort faded, quickly dissolving into the most shocking, wonderful thing ever.
Greyson delved deeper, his pelvis bumping mine as he bottomed out. When I whimpered, he responded with a groan, a mumbled “Fuck, yeah”, and went deeper still until it felt he was battering the outside of my womb.
Bucking his hips upward on the downstroke, the movement brushed my clitoris, and a gasp of pure pleasure escaped my throat. All nerve endings in that small area where we were fused were instantly set aflame. Was that by accident? That wicked little thing he did? No, no, it wasn’t, because Greyson, hearing my involuntary sound, smirked and did it again. And again. Again. Until he stroked a spot deep inside me, a magical place his body seemed especially made to touch, to hit, to rub.
I’d never, ever felt anything like it. A hazy shower of stars began raining down, lightning bolts striking without mercy as he held me open and took me. Spread me. Claimed me. Owned me. Possessed me and stole everything that made me who I am.
Oh, God. I knew… I knew… I would never be the same again. This sinfully flawed man would always own this part of me. He would always own this perfect, wonderful moment.
For a second, his eyes raised, and mine did as well. Our gazes locked. The world faded away until there was only the two of us.
“Fuck me,” Greyson muttered, his tone dark and faintly surprised. “Aren’t you just the tightest little bit of pus—”
I land in a tangled heap,with one hand down my pajama bottoms, nestled between my legs, and the other, thankfully, breaking the brunt of my fall.
It takes a moment of just lying there, assimilating what’s happening. Why I’m on the floor.
Somewhere, in the realm between dreams and awareness, he always finds me. Stealing pieces of me. My heart, my soul. And I let him. I beg him to take everything. Always.
I snatch my hand out from my panties as if alligator jaws are down there waiting to bite my fingers off.
The floor of my airy, pretty bedroom inside my beach cottage is a million years and hundreds of miles away from that dark hotel suite on the Sunset Strip. And I’m the worst kind of pathetic because, just now, while sleeping, I was fingering myself. While filthy, erotic dreams of Greyson fucking me turned me into a hot, quivering mess.
“Damn it,” I groan, pulling myself against the side of the bed. A thick, faux sheepskin rug cushioned my body, but the dark walnut planked floor still bruised my elbow.
