Page 110 of Tabitha

I work lower and lower until the only thing left covered is his glorious cock.

It jerks under my attention, as if begging for me to play, and I can’t look away, hungrily licking my lips. I wait a beat, then grab his cock and devour him whole. Bast groans as I slide him into my mouth, then I proceed to lick every square inch of him from root to tip, nearly choking when he hits the back of my throat. I swallow around him, pulling him deeper until I manage to stuff all of him down my throat.

He threads his fingers into my hair, guiding me up and down his shaft twice before he curses and pulls me off. I release him with a pop, but I don’t even get the chance to protest before he drags me onto his lap. I automatically wrap my arms and legs around him, but he holds me high against his chest, refusing to lower me, the tip of his cock pressing teasingly against my entrance.

I wiggle and squirm, trying to work my way onto his shaft, but the fucker resolutely refuses to release his grip. I glare up at him and snarl, “Fuck. Me. Now.”

Our gazes clash, and I’m suddenly trapped in his amber eyes, unable to look away from the pure love shining back at me. Warmth fills my chest, seeping into my very soul, and the connection I feel to him deepens until I know I won’t be whole without him by my side.

It’s only then that he slowly lowers me onto his cock, taking his time until I’m stuffed, then he pushes farther, burying the last two inches into me.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against mine. “Give your body time to adjust.”

He’s so close, buried so deep inside me, that I can feel the rumble of his words everywhere. My body automatically obeys his command. Despite my earlier bedroom activities, it’s still a stretch for me to take him.

He runs his hands up and down my spine, the warmth of him seeping into me, the rough feel of his palms leaving every inch of me tingling.

Then he does something that makes my breath catch—he flexes his cock inside of me without even moving his hips. I gasp, my eyes nearly fluttering closed. My core automatically tightens around him, and I’m so wet that I’m practically dripping.

He does it again and again until I’m rocking against him, never once looking away from me. I slowly work myself up and down his shaft, drowning in his eyes and spicy teakwood scent. After the third time, he swivels his hips and thrusts sharply, his dick flexing in a way that has my vision darkening.

He moves faster and harder, again and again, and my whole body just detonates. My fingernails sink into his back, drawing blood, and it’s only my grip on him that holds me in one piece. His hands on my hips turn bruising, his movements becoming frantic, almost frenzied.

His cock jerks with his release, which stretches out my orgasm longer and longer. I’m not sure I’m even breathing when he roars out his pleasure.

Unaware of time passing, I startle when he leans back against the bed, dragging me with him. When I try to wiggle away, his arms tighten around me. He rearranges me until I’m sprawled over his chest, then he refuses to let me go.

After a moment of resistance, I melt against him, the strong beat of his heart soothing me.

He kisses the top of my head, then presses his cheek to the spot. His seductive voice is low and smooth like honey when he speaks, filling the darkness in the room with warmth. “We soldiers are a rough lot. Our edges are jagged, and our tempers often have short fuses. We can be assholes more often than not, but when we give of ourselves, we give everything. We’re protective of those we consider ours. And when we love, we love with our whole hearts and souls…”

Bast’s rambling trails off, like he’s working his way up to something, almost like he’s nervous or worried I will run if he just blurts out whatever he really wants to say.

It’s absolutely adorable and eases my own feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness.

Bast and the others make my faults feel like adorable little quirks.

Normally, confessions of love would set off my flight-or-fight instincts, but it’s different with these guys. They don’t trigger me or make my skin crawl if they get too near.

The opposite, in fact.

Being around them is freeing. They don’t judge me or look at me like I’m a freak.

They make me feel wanted, and I haven’t felt that in a very long time.

Bast makes me feel safe.

Adored.

Even loved.

“You love me,” I say, taking pity on him and testing out the phrase, unable to get over how lucky I am to have met not only one man but four that make me feel so cherished.

They make me feel special and whole.

They make me feel loved.

It’s a novel sensation, one that I can get used to feeling.

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