Page 53 of Brawler
“Jesus, Em, I have to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it since the second you kissed me in that goddamn jungle. I need to know how you sound, how you fall apart, when it’s my mouth on your sweet bud.”
The words undid her, filth and worship tangled together. Her fingers tangled in his hair before she even realized she was moving, fisting the thick strands, holding him to her. Then his tongue was on her, hot, insistent, greedy. She moaned his name, back bowing, as he licked her like a starving man, groaning into her flesh as if her taste was the only thing he’d ever needed.
He pulled back just enough to mutter against her swollen clit, his breath scorching. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me. For only me, Tinkerbell. Give it to me, Em.”
Her thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking, and her hands slid down to his shoulders, nails raking against hard muscle. “Don’t stop, Christian…please, don’t stop.”
His tongue plunged deep, stroking, fucking her until her hips jerked against his face. He caught her thighs in his hands, pinning her down, forcing her to take every relentless lick. She writhed helplessly, moans breaking into sharp cries, each one louder than the last.
“God, Emily. You taste so damn sweet, sweeter than I could have imagined. I want every thrust, every moan, all of it. Give me what I want…you.” He groaned the words into her, his tongue flicking her clit, lips sucking hard, pulling the pleasure out of her until she was thrashing against the moss, panting like she couldn’t get enough air.
Her cry broke, her body arching, hands yanking at his hair as if she could fuse him to her. Still, he coaxed her, his voice raw between licks. “That’s it, beautiful. Give it to me. Come on my mouth. Your pleasure is mine.”
When she did, when she shattered again, her sob of release tore into the night. His growl vibrated against her as he lappedher up like a man possessed, drinking every spasm, every pulse, groaning as though her climax was his salvation, the one thing he’d been starving for all his life.
Before the last shudders of release even stopped throbbing through her, he was moving. He surged up over her, the slide of his muscled body against her slick, overheated skin making her pulse leap higher, faster.
She reached down, needing to touch him, and when her fingers brushed the broad, velvet crown of his cock, he sucked in a sharp hiss, his whole body jolting. With a growl he seized both her wrists, dragging her arms above her head and pinning them there, his grip unyielding, control absolute.
He settled his weight over her, thighs forcing hers apart, and pressed the thick length of his erection against her swollen sex. She gasped, fire racing through her veins. One glimpse of his face, fierce, storm-dark, undone, and then his mouth crashed down on hers. He kissed her with brutal passion as he thrust deep, filling her slick heat in one claiming stroke.
Their moans mingled, breath and sound tangling, her body opening to him, clutching him tight. The pleasure was so intense she could barely breathe. His energy radiated off him in waves, raw power and scorching heat, but beneath it pulsed a tenderness that made her chest ache.
He took her fast, deep, relentless. A rhythm rich and seductive, pounding through her body with the same inevitability as her own heartbeat. His hips ground against hers with every impaling thrust, until the pressure inside her shattered again. She screamed into his kiss as her body convulsed, climax ripping through her in a blinding surge of intoxicating speed and delirious sensation.
His growl erupted against her mouth, low and primal, vibrating through her bones. His body jerked violently, hips arching, and then he spilled inside her with a hot rush, floodingher as he groaned her name like it was the only word he’d ever known.
His rhythm grew wild, deeper, harder, the sound of water pounding around them, their bodies slapping together, breath ragged. Then his gaze locked on hers.
Eyes, dark and desperate, burning with pleasure as raw as it was vulnerable. She saw him taking, yes, claiming her body with every thrust, but also giving, offering himself in a way no one else ever had. He plumbed her gaze as if searching for something vital, and she gave it freely, her need, her joy, her soul.
Bodies offered, sex to sex, in the most primal way a man and a woman could join. No pretense. No armor. Just Christian and Emily.
“I’m dying for you, Em,” he gasped, voice breaking, face tight with rapture. “Dying… but don’t let me go. I need that life, that energy, all that pixie magic.”
His face contorted, surrender and detonation all at once, the flicker of control shattering, replaced by raw trust as he gave himself to her, utterly without fear. A muffled, aching sound tore from his throat, the sound of this fierce, unyielding man,herman, relinquishing everything, pouring every last pulse of his release into her.
She felt it, not just the hot flood of his body, but the gift of his surrender. His trust. His belief that she would never use this power against him. It was the most intimate thing he could give, and it broke her wide open.
They drifted down together, still joined, until his body eased her onto the mossy ledge. Wrapped in his arms, cocooned in warmth and the steady rush of water, exhaustion claimed them both. The last thing Emily felt before sleep took her was the weight of him, solid and safe, his heart hammering against her cheek.
When Brawler stirred again, it was to the shock of wet heat engulfing him. His breath snapped in, chest jerking as his eyes flew open. Emily was between his thighs, red hair a wild halo against his skin, her mouth wrapped tight around his cock.
“Jesus, Em—” He tried to rise, tried to reach for her, but she shoved at his chest with surprising strength, pressing him flat to the moss.
“Stay down,” she said, voice low and wicked, before sliding her mouth deeper.
He groaned, fists clenching in the moss as his hips jerked involuntarily. He reached again, instinct to take control burning through him, but Emily only pressed harder against his belly with one small palm, holding him down as if he were hers to command.
“Pixie…” His voice cracked, half plea, half worship, as her tongue worked him, relentless and greedy. His vision blurred, his whole body bowing under the pleasure she poured into him. For the first time, Christian Beckett, Brawler, protector, relentless warrior, was undone not by force, but by surrender.
Her mouth slid down over him again, hot and greedy, and Brawler’s back arched helplessly against the moss. He groaned, fists clenching at his sides, trying to keep a grip on something, anything. But she was relentless, tormenting him with every slick stroke of her tongue, every hungry pull of her lips.
“I thought I was drown-proof,” he ground out, his voice a wrecked rasp. “But the Navy’s got nothing on you.”
She answered by pushing deeper, swallowing him, and he nearly lost it right then. She was water incarnate, wet, heavy, merciless, dragging him under, flooding him with pleasure until his chest heaved like he couldn’t breathe.
His fall was going to be complete, so goddamned complete. He wasn’t walking away from this unscathed. She had done something to him no enemy ever could, something he’d neverrecover from, not when she was fucking him with that gorgeous, sassy mouth, breaking him open in ways he hadn’t known were possible.
