Page 25 of Shockproof

“Yes, Slater,” is instantly whispered in return.

More groans liberate themselves except these are coated in gratitude.

So, while sex may not be the subject I am most versed in – thankfully that seems to be changing – I have learned that some men really,reallyenjoy hearing their name not only screamed but simply spoken.

Almost as if that alone is enough to get things swelling.

Slater’s shaft knocking against me verifies the observation seconds prior to goosebumps multiplying across my skin as his fingertips smoothly glide themselves the lengths of my arms, taking out time to circle the tiny Blink-182 tattoo that hides in the fold of my right elbow and the random beauty marks near my left shoulder.

The unhurried tracing of my trembling frame continues, now following the stretch of my spine, an action that causes him to quietly confess, “Fuck, I want my name dancing around these notes, baby.” He unexpectedly spreads his digits to dig into my flesh. “Me always on you.” His fingers possessively flex. “Forever.”

I’m tempted to look over my shoulder to reply, yet I recall my instructions and seek his reflection in the glass instead. “Me too.”

Another low, dark grumble is granted freedom at the same time his hands finally reach the band of my sleep shorts. Once there, Slater teasingly skims them along the rim, back to front, front to back, back and down the crack of my ass, devilishly chortling during my obvious struggle not to lean into the delicious caresses.

Did he take a class on sexual warfare?

Is therea class on sexual warfare?

Is that how spies and other undercover agents get so good at sexpionage?

Ohmygod,is he so good at this torture because this is what he “dabbled in” during his transition from the PJs to HE?!

Lowering my bottoms to the ground is a swift process; however, resuming his standing position is one that my boyfriend purposely makes painfully slow. Puffs of hot air searing the skin on the back of my knees is enough on its own to cause my soaking wet muscles to throb yet the feeling of his teeth savagely scraping the territory upward has them tightening to the point I worry I might accidently snap his dick in two when he slides inside.

Ifhe ever slides inside.

I’m now concerned that this whole situation is another self-defense lesson that I am epically failing.

Gentle nuzzles of his nose and scruff covered cheeks begin on the outside of my thighs, wordlessly ending my worries.

Reminding me that taking his time isn’t about making me miserable.

It’s aboutlovingme.

Worshippingme.

Letting mephysicallyfeelas wanted and as powerful as he verbally insists that I am.

All of a sudden, the very tip of Slater’s tongue drags itself along the curve of my ass cheek, tempting my figure to tense, to shy away from having him openly lick me somewhere so unusual, so typically scoffed at, but I don’t.

I maintain my still stance.

Continue to show him my dedication.

My ability to follow his orders.

Prove how I trust his word.

Him.

How he can trust me.

Mine.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me…” my boyfriend hungrily murmurs against the skin, vibrations making me wetter.

Needier.

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