Page 112 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Maybe he’d even renovate the home gym.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her closer, gently, by the arms, and tracing his hands up her shoulders to her neck, kissing her softly on the mouth before lowering her carefully to the ground and bracketing her body with his knees and hands on either side of her.
Trailing adorations down the center of her, he rubbed his hands down her sides as he slid down, tracing circles onto her thighs and moving them slowly inward. He pressed kisses against her belly button, her hips, the crease where each thigh met the center of her, his thumbs sliding upward and circling.
Vickie was gasping now, and he wanted to consume her. Her every sound of pleasure, her soft skin, all of her, but he settled for pressing languid kisses on each thigh, closer andcloser to where she wanted him, as her legs trembled and she moaned. Azrael drew back for a moment, kissing the crooks of her knees, and then trailing his mouth up, up, up her thigh.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered again. He let the letters of it brush against her lower lips and parted her with his tongue. Azrael pressed his tongue flat against her clit for a moment before lapping and circling, pumping a finger in and out, and watching her, the susurrations of her breath, so that he could learn, as always, more closely what pushed her closer and what made her dig her nails into his hair and yank.
Once he could feel her tensing, he moved his head up, smiling at her.
“Take me,” she breathed. Her face was open. Flushed. It made his heart ache with joy and longing. “Take all of me,” she said.
Pressing a palm against her stomach, he slid it around and under her to tilt her pelvis up toward him, and moved his hand back to circle his thumb around her bundle of nerves once more.
“Now, Az, please.” The begging was more than he could withstand, and he moved up her body and nudged at her, relishing the way her mouth opened and she breathed, eyelashes fluttering. He pushed a little harder at the center of her with his thumb as he slid in and felt her adjust to him, her inner walls tight and close, so close.
Azrael drew out inch by inch and then back in, forcing himself to go slow enough to feel every part of her. To commit every exquisite second to memory.
“Faster,” she commanded, and then he was gone, reckless and unable to stop himself from pounding so hard that she slipped a little bit and dug her hands into the carpet to stabilize herself, his thumb working at her, and he was so close that if she didn’t finish soon, well, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on.
“Vickie,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good. Come for me before I completely lose control. Let go.”
Moving his thumb gently, he pushed into her, finding therhythm she’d once lunged toward on his fingers, and then she was arching her back and moaning loudly enough that the flame in the fireplace roared higher in approval. “Good girl,” he whispered, “you’re so close,” and “yes, let me,” and everything clenched around him, and he couldn’t stop himself; his orgasm and his emotions exploded.
“I love you.” His breathing was ragged around the words as they both came down from the high of ecstasy pooling between them.
“I love you too,” she murmured into his ear as he collapsed, rolling onto his side and pulling her in to tuck her underneath his arm.
He could die a happy man right now. He snapped his fingers so that a pillow and throw blankets arranged themselves in a makeshift bed on the library floor. The house dimmed the lights, and he drifted, peacefully, into sleep, with Vickie curled around him.
Azrael Hart had come home.
At last.
CHAPTER 36Victoria
They had woken up to stumble upstairs to his bedroom, the house lighting chandeliers in a soft romantic glow along their path. She tripped up a stair, nearly losing the fluffy blanket she’d thrown around her shoulders rather than get dressed. Azrael, who had pulled on just his underwear, snapped his fingers and two tall tumblers of water and a plate full of snacks materialized, floating in the air beside them.
His chest looked sculpted in the low lighting, and she bit her lip, reaching up to ruffle the dark curls snaking across his forehead. His brownish eyes darkened now, the gold and green almost completely snuffed out, as she pushed her hands against the bare skin of his shoulders and leaned up to kiss him. Hard.
“On the stairs?” he asked, tracing patterns that raised goose bumps on her arm with one hand.
“Another time,” she said between panting breaths. “Your bed. The silk sheets. I’ve always wanted to.”
“As you wish,” he murmured, grabbing for her hand, and increasing their pace up the stairs. The pictures rattled a little on the walls, as though they, too, were eager, and from the main room, Franklin the polar bear rug roared in support.
They reached his room and the food and water landed neatly on his desk, but there would be time for that later. The curtains of the four-poster bed were drawn back, EmilyLickinson perched atop the sheets. One look at them and she yowled, stretched, and hopped off the bed.
Vickie slid toward the bed, but Az held his hands up.
“Hold on, sweetheart.”
He snapped his fingers a few times, and tufts of white cat hair lifted from the sheets and sprinkled themselves into a trash can.
Azrael sneezed. “Cat hair,” he said apologetically.
Emily was nowhere to be found now, though, and the clicking noises behind Vickie said that the house, once more, was locking them into privacy.
