Page 61 of Heated
I can’t help it. With those words, that gift, she unleashed something inside me, and my hands, my mouth, my body—they’re everywhere. Backed against the wall next to her front door, I fist my hand in her curls, because,God, I can’t get enough of them. Of the rough silken strands between my fingers, over my palms. Because I can, I turn my face into them, inhale, rubbing my skin against them. Feeling their caress over my chest, abdomen, thighs ... cock. Shit. My grip tightens, and she whimpers. I pull back, peering down into her face, gauging if I’ve hurt her, even unintentionally. What I glimpse ...
“Fuck, baby.”
Pleasure suffuses her features. Desire glazes her hooded eyes; color rides the high arcs of her cheekbones. Her lips, already swollen from my kiss, are wet, parted as if begging me for more.
That seems to be our theme.
More.
I can’t resist the call, the lure of that mouth. Rubbing my thumb over the lush bottom lip, I press it inside, her teeth grazing the tip. Not satisfied, I push my thumb farther, claiming more of her mouth, sliding it along her tongue. Lashes fluttering down, she curls around me, sucking, drawing hard, and that suction pulls directly on my dick. I groan, and it’s long and thick with lust. Abandoning her hair, I punch my fist to the wall above her head, grinding my erection against her hip, seeking some kind of temporary relief. But who the fuck am I kidding? There’s no relief that doesn’t include sliding deep inside the place my thumb is enjoying or the dark, tight, wet core her thighs are shielding.
“Tell me what’s too much,” I order, watching my hand with complete fascination as I pull it free of her lips.
Another moan slips free of me as I study my thumb, glistening from her mouth. Goddamn. Will my cock be as shiny from her pussy once I get it inside her? Because if I do nothing else before I leave this earth,I’m going to push slow, firm, and without mercy into her. I’m going to know that hot, slick clasp of her sex strangling my dick. I’m going to find out the exquisite pleasure of her milking me dry and leaving me drained.
Taking her mouth again, I tangle my tongue with hers and lower my arm from above her. Slowly, I drag the backs of my fingers down her temple, her cheek, and her jaw until I reach her throat. There, I circle the elegant column, palming the front of her neck, fingers and thumb cupping the sides. I pause, staring down into her eyes, granting her time to tell me no, she’s not comfortable with this hold or push at my hand and pull free. My grip isn’t tight, but it is firm. I want her to feel me, to know what I want from her.
Which is her control.
But she doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t even reach up to circle my wrist like she did that night on her couch.
A primal, roaring satisfaction rises in me, and I bend my head, brushing a grateful kiss over her lips.
That soft kiss belies the firm rub I apply to her clit.
She cries out against my mouth, and I’m there to swallow it. And demand another one. Because it’s sweet. It’s addictive. It’s mine.
I cup her, grinding the heel of my palm to that perfect little bundle of nerves, circling it. She arches hard, pressing her throat to my palm, crushing her breasts to my chest. Her nails claw at my back, and I count each tiny bite of pain as my reward, my due.
Her hips twist and buck, and I lean back to watch the show. Watch those thick, gorgeous thighs spread to accommodate my hand. To silently plead for me to finish what I’m giving her.
“Make me come, Cyrus. Please. I need to come.”
Fuck. Not so silently.
Snatching my hand away, I devour her cry of disapproval, and shoving in between her thighs, I cup the backs of them and hike herhigh against the wall. That cry transforms into one of alarm, and she shoves at my chest.
“No,” she rasps, breathless, shaking her head. “You can’t—”
“I can and I am. Now put your arms around me. Hold on to me, baby. Kiss me like you mean it. Like you want what I have for you.”
The panic doesn’t completely ebb from her eyes, but the passion crowds in again. Especially when I drag my cock up her jean-covered folds, pausing to work it over her clit. Blazing-hot fire streaks down my spine, and I close my eyes, praying that this doesn’t end with this one stroke.
“Kiss me, Zora.” I need that connection with her.
Need her to hold me, just as I’m holding her.
She captures my mouth, thrusting her tongue between my lips and taking me in the same way I want to claim her body. It’s a lit match to the powder keg inside me.
Pinning her tighter to the wall, I move, thrusting against her. If our jeans were to miraculously disappear—and shit, where’s a miracle when you need one?—I would be buried inside her right now. This, though ... I drive forward again. And again. And again. It’s good. So fucking good. Having this beautiful, sexy woman tremble and moan in my arms? I’m transfigured into a god. A pagan god whose sole power is doling out pleasure to one Zora Nelson.
“Cyrus.” She tears her mouth away from mine, buries her face in my neck. Her mouth opens on my neck, teeth grazing, tongue licking. “Please.”
I can’t deny her. Everything in me demands I give her the ecstasy she deserves.
“Keep me wrapped up tight in these gorgeous legs, baby,” I whisper, reaching between us, releasing the button on her jeans. She stiffens, and I pause. “Your pace, on your word.”
I might probably go to my car, huddle on the floorboard, and cry after I leave her house if I don’t get to feel her come, but I’ll survive.
