Page 111 of Homebound
“You’re strong,” she whispered in awe.
“Someone has to be.” His tone wasn’t boastful. He simply stated the fact.
“I am not strong at all.”
“Your strength is on the inside.” Their chests almost touched where her nipples pebbled from the damp air.
Gemma shook her head in denial. “I’m afraid I’m a burden to you.”
“Never.”
“Simon,” shaken, Gemma grasped his shoulders. She could smell his skin from this close, and the aroma, unique and a little cloying, intoxicated her like a potent wine. She became lightheaded and breathless. “There’s so much of you… You’re too close… I think I need space.”
“It isn’t the space that you need,” he murmured in her hair.
With a moan she gave in to her temptation, leaning into him. She rubbed against him like a cat, her breasts tingling wildly from the friction. His arms came around her, hesitant at first as if she were a flighty butterfly he was trying to catch. Once they closed around her, once he got her in his possession, they turned to iron. He let them both fall on the narrow bed.
She could scarcely follow what they were doing, her brain a ball of sensual fuzz. They kissed, deeply, the scrape of his teeth sharp and erotic against her tongue, and a little scary. Somehow, she ended up with her breasts pushed up to his face, and he hungrily licked around her nipples, the sandpapery texture of his tongue eliciting mewling noises from her throat. When he finally suckled her, she thought she’d burst into a million tiny bubbles of pleasure.
He wrestled the rest of his clothes off, and she was suddenly free to revel in the plushness of his bare body, the unyielding smooth muscle covered in a decadent velvet of the tawny skin. Gemma writhed against him, under him, letting her hands explore and kneading his back, instinctively rubbing her pelvis against the front of his. She was soaking wet, aching for release, the desire to have him enter her almost overwhelming. Breathing hard and flushed from the dark pleasure, she forced her body to be still. He couldn't give her what her human female nature desired, and it wasn’t fair of her to place demands on Simon that she knew he couldn't physically fulfill.
Simon’s clawed hand gently scraped the inside of her thighs, and he touched the backs of his fingers against the moist curls at her core. She spread her legs shamelessly, granting him access. She didn’t care if his nails drew blood; she’d take the pain with the pleasure. Casting a glance at his face, she saw that sexual desire turned his eyes into a lovely sea of unadulterated black, brilliant and deep. The neatly arranged tattoos at the base of his neck were pulsating rapidly, letting her know that more than two of his hearts were engaged.
The sight made her free-fall deeper into the bottomless pit of suffocating pleasure. She’d never experienced lust so all-consuming.
“You’re making me burn,” she sounded almost accusing.
In response, he gently rubbed the pads of his fingers back and forth along her slit. She was so close, if only he applied more pressure.
He stopped, and her eyes flew open, her body teetering on the verge of release.
“Simon,” she breathed his name.
“I am not human, Gemma. I want you to be aware of that. Now. At this moment.”
With a sinking feeling, she realized he was addressing his inability to complete the sexual act like he knew she expected it to be completed.
“I know what you are. It doesn’t matter. What you can’t do doesn’t matter.”
He went still over her and a funny expression briefly flashed across his impassive features.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Never assume,” he said in a dark accented whisper that sent shivers along her spine.
Before she had a chance to process his meaning, he settled between her splayed thighs, heavy and blatantly male in his bulky, wide-shouldered shape, and gripped her head, forcing her to submit to another rough kiss. She welcomed it, aware that the span of his fingers was wide enough to hold her entire head in the palm of his one hand.
Without warning, she felt pressure down there as he filled her, stretching her tissues almost to capacity.
How?How??The question left a blazing trail in her head before dissolving into wisps of smoke as the sensations of such utter completion swamped Gemma that she cried out.
“Am I hurting you?” Simon’s voice was pure gravel, and she guessed rather than understood his garbled accent.
He started to withdraw.
“No!” Panicked, she clutched his lower back, forcing him still. He was hurting her a little. There was too much of him, all at once, with no warning, but if that was what it took to have him, she wanted it to hurt. She gloried in this magical fullness.
He uttered something, a low rumble of it vibrating through her chest where they touched. His heavy braid fell on her upturned face and slid off her cheek, sensual because it was his, and because her skin was burning up. Imprisoning her hands above her head, he pulled almost all the way out - only to slam back into her. She cried out. Her legs moved restlessly against the mattress. He pulled out and filled her again, setting up a rhythm, and she became disoriented.
Nothing prepared her for this raw, painful intimacy. He was everywhere, his taste inside her mouth, her nose full of his delicious musky scent, her slick entrance accepting the girth of his alien body that was setting her on fire. At that moment, he owned her. It was terrifying, and she didn’t want it to end.
