Page 89 of Rapture's Edge (Night Prowler 3)
But he did, he was, and his next slow, seductively spoken words proved it.
“Not yet.”
“You son of a bitch!” she hissed, stiffening. “Not this again!”
He flexed his hips and pressed deep into her and she was so, so full—her anger turned liquid along with her limbs. She groaned and shuddered, and he laughed darkly against her neck, triumphant.
“Demetrius,” she whimpered, “please.”
“Begging won’t help you, baby girl,” he teased gruffly, flexing into her again, somehow knowing exactly how much pressure and speed would take her over the edge and how much would keep her hanging on it. “You have to let go and trust me.”
“I will kill you.” Her voice was hoarse and, even to her own ears, utterly lacking conviction. “I swear I will kill you.”
He flexed into her again, with a little twist of his pelvis to top it off, and this time she gasped. He put his lips against her ear and murmured, “Let go. Trust me. Just once. Just this once.”
Oh, slippery, slippery slope, this. She’d already trusted him once, more than once, but she couldn’t think with him buried inside her, she could barely even breathe, and for some ridiculous reason all she wanted to do was give him what he wanted. Whatever he wanted.
She turned her head, looked up at him, and whispered, “Okay.”
He wasn’t expecting it, she could tell by the way he froze and looked down at her, startled. She bit her lip and nodded, just to make sure he knew she was coherent, and relaxed in the circle of his arms. “Okay.”
“Ana,” he breathed in wonder, “you never cease to amaze me.”
She smiled, feeling almost shy. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Oh?” His brows rose. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek, his own rough and shadowed with a growth of day-old beard. “Interesting choice of words, considering…”
He slowly sank into her again, and she tightened her arms around his neck.
She whispered his name as her eyes slid shut and her head fell back against the tile, whispered it again, broken, when he cupped her breast and bent his head and suckled her. The drawing of his tongue and lips sent spikes of pleasure/pain straight to her core, and though she wanted to writhe against him, she held still, allowing him to hold her up and caress her and control her body, allowing him to bring her back up to that edge again, with his lips and his beautiful, hard body filling hers.
He began to thrust again, slowly, brought her face to his with his fingers on her chin. She knew he’d want her eyes open, so she kept them that way and gazed at him, noticing every detail of his face, strong jaw and full lips and the thicket of dark lashes around his eyes. His breathing was ragged. His hands dug into her bottom.
She began to lose herself to sensation. He was everywhere, filling her in every way, his scent in her nose and his tongue in her mouth and his need for her like another skin wrapped around her body. She was burning, she was flying, and with every single thrust she was falling and letting herself fall, glad of it. Glad to finally let go, if even for only a while.
“That’s right,” he murmured, watching her with half-lidded eyes when she
moaned and shivered against him. “That’s my girl.”
She was so close now; every nerve ending was firing, and her entire body was shaking. She felt as if she would crack wide open and die from pleasure, or be devoured by this thing between them that felt like a monster in the room, an entity, primal and hungry and animal.
She cupped his face in her hands and looked deep into his eyes, letting him see everything. Asking permission.
His arms were crushing. His eyes, wild. “Like drowning,” he groaned.
“Like dying,” she agreed in a harsh whisper as she rode the crest of the wave and felt something vast and dark rushing at her, inescapable as death.
D began to thrust hard, letting himself go. “Yes, Ana,” he panted. “Come for me, baby. Now.”
Love like drowning, love like burning, a million different ways to die—
She exploded, supernova, the world went white and then black. Her body bowed, and she sobbed his name, clenching around him, racked with tremors, pleasure so acute it almost hurt.
It did hurt. It burned.
Maybe this is what love is for us…unending, unendurable pain.
She buried her face in his neck to hide her wet eyes.
