Page 32 of The Reaper
I slid my hands to her waistband, yanking down her pants. She lifted her hips, helping. No shame. Just hunger in her eyes.
Panties next. Black. Matching. Soaked. I tossed them aside, spreading her legs. She was bare. Glistening. The sight nearly undid me.
“Beautiful,” I growled.
I dropped to my knees, face level with her core. The kitchen smelled like her now—musk and need. I licked slow, bottom totop. She tasted like sin. Her thighs clamped around my head. A moan ripped from her throat.
“Yes.” Her hands fisted in my hair.
I circled her clit with my tongue, alternating pressure. My fingers slid inside—two, curling up. She bucked, walls clenching.
“Deeper,” she ordered.
That tone—chef in her domain—sent a jolt through me. I obeyed, tongue relentless. She reached down, joining me, rubbing her clit while I fucked her with my hand.
I groaned. The vibration made her shudder.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
I didn’t.
She came hard, thighs trembling, cries echoing. I kept licking, slow now, letting her ride it out.
She slumped, chest heaving. “God,” she breathed. “That was …”
“Not done,” I said.
I stood, wiped my mouth. My cock throbbed, ready to burst. I undid my belt, slacks dropping, boxer briefs next. Her eyes widened.
She reached out, wrapping her hand around me. Stroking firm. Sure. “Fuck,” I muttered, thrusting into her fist.
“Now,” she said, guiding me to her entrance.
I thrust in. Slow. Inch by inch. She stretched around me, wet and tight.
“Jesus,” I groaned, buried deep.
She clenched. “You feel that?”
Yeah, I did. Every nerve lit up. I pulled back, slammed in. Possessive. Deep. She met every thrust. Hips rolling. Made for me.
I gripped her ass, angling deeper. “Mine,” I growled.
Losses flashed—Baker’s empty stare—but I shoved them away. Meghan was here. Hot. Alive. Moaning my name like salvation.
She pushed me back, hopped off, turned around. Braced herself.
“From behind,” she said.
Fuck, that fire.
I slid back in, hands on her hips, thrusting harder. Skin slapped. Her ass bounced with every thrust.
I reached around, fingers circling her clit. She arched. Cried out.
“Harder,” she demanded.
I gave it. Brutal. Controlled. Her skin slick. Air thick with musk and sweat.
