Page 54 of Heated
A moan slips up from the core of me—that hot, slippery, empty core of me—to my throat, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to trap it.
“More?”
More?
I lift lashes I hadn’t realized had drifted down and meet ice-blue fire. There’s more? I’m already on fire and so wet. And hurting. It would be the height of greed and foolishness to reach formore...
“Yes.”
Without breaking our visual connection, he strokes his hands up my arms and curves, then over my shoulders. Slowly, as if granting me time to object, he draws me forward until he’s sitting in the couch’s far corner and I’m tucked between his sprawled legs, curled against his chest. His body heat envelops me, warming his wood-and-leather scent so it’s rich and heavy on my tongue and nostrils. His arms and legs brace me, enfold me ... protect me. I’m sheltered on all sides. And at my hip ...
The rigid, thick length of his cock.Oh God.
I close my eyes.
My sex spasms. Hard. And I clench my teeth against the sweet pain of it.
That big heavy dick against me should be enough to prevent me from relaxing, but it doesn’t. It has just the opposite effect. I melt into his frame like butter left out in the sun.
How long we sit there, I don’t know. One episode plays through. Then another. At the start of the second one, his fingers feather through my hair. Hesitant at first, but then, when I don’t object, with more confidence and ... enjoyment. His nails scrape my scalp, and I shiver. His big body stiffens behind me.
Then he does it again.
I shiver again.
Those fingers tangle in my curls, fisting them, and tiny pinpricks scatter along my scalp. A gasp slips free from my mouth, and I tip my head back, my lips grazing the underside of his jaw. Just that—just that slight, accidental brush—leaves his flavor on my skin. Slicking my tongue over my bottom lip, I sample him, anddamn. He tastes sogood. The musk of cedar, the earthiness of leather, and the indescribable but wholly unique tang of him.
It’s my new favorite meal.
He remains so still, and I should heed that as a sign. But he has his hand in my hair, and hunger is a real thing now. Besides, he invited me to take. And I’m taking.
Shifting, I rub my lips firmer against his jaw, my tongue peeking out to lick. That fist tightens, and fire dances across my scalp. In retaliation, I bring my teeth into play. Grazing. Nipping.
His harsh breath punctuates the room, and only his fingers move, flexing and straightening in my hair.
“More?” he asks, voice no longer smooth but churned-up gravel.
“Yes,” I say against his skin.
There’s no hesitation now. Not here, with the sweet narcotic of his arms around me, of his catering to me, of his giving me control by shouldering it. For seeing me in a way no one has bothered to take the time to do.
So yes. I need so much more of him.
“You sure?” He tips his head down, at the same time using his grip to pull mine back so our mouths are inches apart. My heart pounds against my chest. So hard I can barely hear his question. So I read his lips. Those full, cruel, beautiful lips. “This what you need? If it is, I’ll give it to you.”
He’d been listening at lunch because he’s returning my words to me.
A man who listens.
I could fucking orgasm from that alone.
“More,” I whisper.
He doesn’t ask me again.
That mouth descends on mine and changes my world. Changes me.
This time I don’t lock down my moan. I let it go. And I go with it. One of his arms wraps around my waist while the other rises, his hand cupping my chin, tilting it, holding me steady as he takes my mouth, fucks it, corrupts it.
