Page 39 of Obsidian and Frost
He angled me with his hand in my hair as he slid his tongue along mine, and we moved together with the sensual beat. It was slow and easy, but so insanely erotic that a rush of pleasure rolled through me, making me tremble in his arms.
The next thing I knew, I was shoving at his hoodie.
He got the message and shucked it off, tossing it across the space.
And then my hands were touching him skin-to-skin.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Too cold?” I asked, worriedly.
“Perfectly cold. I’m burning the fuck up right now.”
His voice was strained, ragged, and it was so hot, knowing that I was causing this reaction in him.
My fingers trailed across the taut lines of his shoulders, his arms, down over his tank, tracing everything, every scar, every ridge of hard-earned strength. His muscles twitched under my touch, like even the lightest graze was too much.
He broke our kiss, then dragged his teeth along my throat in a deliciously animalistic way that had my hand shooting out and grabbing at his belt.
His tongue followed the path of the light scrapes he’d made and I threw my head back in rapture at the sensations colliding.
“Hell,” I choked.
“Hell… Heaven… all the same with me,Wraithqueen.”
A guttural growl escaped him and then with a blur of speed, he had me slammed up against a nearby tree at the edge of our hidden hollow—fast, fluid, possessive.
And then he was licking and nipping at my lips, my jaw, my throat, across the tops of my breasts, and rolling his hips.
I fisted his hair and pulled hard, gasping as I arched into him.
He groaned in response, pressing closer, and I ground back against him, feeling his very hard cock rubbing harder and rougher against my pussy, sending sparks of bliss through me radiating out everywhere, even as he undid me with that glorious mouth of his at the same time.
“Lazriel,” I rasped.
One hand left my hip and slid up my thigh—scraping up, actually, the sharp searing sensation sending my mind and body into overdrive with all the stimulation.
I jolted as his fingers dipped under my dress and brushed the edge of my panties.
His gaze shot to mine, hot intensity blazing forth.
“Yes,” I breathed, responding to the question in his eyes.
Two fingers slipped underneath my panties, a tremble rolling through me as he dragged them through my folds—a sensation I hadn’t felt in years.
I threw my hands out and dug my fingers into his chest over his tank.
“You’re soaked. Drenching my fingers already.”
He was all over me then, rubbing, flicking, pinching, driving me crazy.
I felt him slicking his fingers with my own wetness, then he pushed them into me, one inch at a time, going deeper, opening me up, filling me.
My hips moved on instinct, greedy for more. I rocked against him, gasping as the pressure and stretch made me wince.
He caught it instantly. His thumb stroked my clit, coaxing me back into pleasure, guiding me with expert rhythm as he began to slide his thick fingers in and out.
In moments, I was slamming my hips down onto them, chasing every shock of bliss he gave me.
