Page 24 of Fallen Angel
He paused and licked his lips. “So, you’ve never been with a man?”
Again, she nodded.
A wicked smile curved his lips. “Let me hear you say it,” he said softly.
She let her hands drop to her lap. “I’m a virgin,” she whispered.
He kissed her long and hard.
“Again,” he said. “Louder.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“Again,” he growled.
“I’m a virgin!”
He scooped her into his arms and stood. “Not for long,” he promised, and headed toward the stairs.
He kicked the door open to his bedroom, all the while holding her gaze. She turned and buried her face in his neck.
“Don’t look away from me, Angel.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
“Don’t hide from me.” He set her feet on the floor and stood in front of her. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, his hand stroking down her hips and waist, then curving over her bum. He gripped each cheek and thrust her against him.
“You have such a hot ass.”
She blushed, and once more, her eyes shifted to the floor. But he crooked his thumb under her chin. “Remember, don’t hide from me,” he whispered.
Again, she did what he asked and held his gaze.
He cupped her cheeks. “If you could only see what I see when I look at you, you would never doubt yourself again.”
Her heart leapt. Then his eyes narrowed with piercing intensity. He kissed her. She melted in his arms. He tasted so good. He ran his tongue across the seam of her lips, compelling them to part. Gripping his shirt, she moaned as his tongue slid into her mouth, slowly caressing, tasting, making her heart race and her body ache. She reached her arms around his neck. He kissed her harder, deeper. His hands seized her shirt. Slowly, he slid it over her head. Then he pulled her close. She pressed against his chest, savoring the feel of his bare skin touching hers. He was so warm. His hard strength surrounded her, soothed her, making her body burn.
His gaze bore into hers as he eased his unbuttoned shirt down his arms.
She didn’t look away—she couldn’t.
Her eyes traveled over his broad, muscled shoulders, his wide chest, washboard stomach, and chiseled v-line. Then she saw his thick length pushing against the fabric of his jeans. Her face burned the instant before her eyes dropped again to the ground.
He took her hand and pressed it against the large bulge in his pants. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
Her heart raced. She dared looked up at him. “I don’t want to be afraid.” She swallowed, then drew a deep breath and pressed her hand harder against him. “What I want is you.”
With a groan, his lips seized hers, his kiss strong and demanding. She boldly met each stroke of his tongue. Her fingers wove through his hair, pulling him closer. He crushed her against him. His strength thrilled her, fueling her desire. He could break her, snuff her out in an instant, but he used his size and his hardness to protect, not to hurt, to pleasure, not to pain. Her hands moved to the shifting ridges of his broad shoulders, his raw masculinity helping her realize her own feminine rhythm.
He turned her around, her heart pounding harder than ever. His lips made a slow burning trail of heat down her neck, then across her shoulders and down her back. He branded her with his tongue. Heat spread throughout her body, building like fire between her legs. He unclasped her bra, then turned her back around and held her gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the plain, white fabric away, his eyes never leaving hers, their blue depths piercing, stealing what little breath she could draw. His eyes dropped. He slowly reached out to touch her. His fingertips grazed her nipples. “You are beautiful,” he said softly, reverently. He gently cupped her breasts. “Has anyone ever done this before?”
“No,” she whispered, her breaths catching. He bent her back, exposing her creamy mounds. He lowered his head, laving his tongue across her neck and chest, then lower. His full lips surrounded her nipple, sucking, licking, tasting, driving her wild. A soft groan escaped her lips as she wove her fingers through his hair. Sensation pulsed where his lips and tongue tasted and teased, building and then spreading, coursing through her, racing down to join the deep, throbbing ache at the apex of her thighs.
He twirled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger while he pulled her close and kissed her hard, his tongue delving, teasing, savoring, his hands both gentle and biting, his breaths ragged, feeding her own hunger.
He unzipped her jeans and eased them down her hips. He dropped to his knees and ran his fingers along the waist of her white, cotton panties.
“Oh God,” she whispered. The ache was so strong. Her body yearned to be touched, kissed—she wanted it, needed it. She had never known such hunger. It filled her and starved her all at once.
