AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Nine
‡
“Come here.”
Wasn’t the first thing I’d wanted to say, but my well of pithy and witty was drained. My senses spun, processing so much inside and out. Could I be blamed when a dark demigod hovered over me, driving his blue fire stare into me? How else was my body supposed to react, except to go up in flames?
I backed the entreaty by sprawling my fingers against the back of his head. Dug my nails into his scalp. Reveled in how he hissed then dipped toward me. Groaned deep as I pulled him lower, toward the parted hunger of my lips.
On his way down, he grated just one thing.
“Yes, tupulai.”
He could have just called me a one-eyed goose and I didn’t care. I adored the sensual sibilance of the Arcadian language—who didn’t?—but on his lips, the native words became verbal diamonds, spraying my senses with their sparkling facets. I smiled. When he returned the look, I felt nothing near a goose. Once more, I simply rejoiced in his wind on my wings. His sun on my petals. His purpose in being here, if only for the one moment we’d have to recognize this thing between us…whatever this “thing” was.
Did I even want to define it? Analyze it? Why? Wouldn’t change the fact that it just was. This pull to him—this need to pull at him—was like nothing I’d ever let inside the tower of my heart…and for just one moment, I was going to let him climb inside.
I know, I know; it sounded completely crazy. Where had these grand, romantic fireworks come from? I was the girl who only wanted the danger, the burn, the hard-‘n’-hot fuck. But maybe that was fate’s psyche-out this time. Guys like him—princes like him—weren’t after women like me. They could ask for, and get, females named Barbie, Jessie…Ambyr. They wanted girls who wore sweater sets at dinner and lacy lingerie sets afterward, who liked screwing with the lights off as they moaned in all the right places. A delicate blow job from time to time was okay too, but that was where the lines got drawn.
Women like me weren’t delicate.
Our lines were messy.
Our needs were dirty.
We were…weird.
But maybe, just maybe, Shiraz Cimarron wanted to know what weird felt like for a moment. Maybe even two.
He sure as hell liked it so far—if I interpreted his groan clearly enough. And the growl it turned into as my grip on his hair became demanding, all but forcing him across the last few inches over my open mouth.
Dear…God.
Weird had never felt so good to me, and I’d practically invented the word.
No kiss had ever been this messy either. Or this wet and hot and needing and deep—and even a little painful, as our teeth collided—during our mutual quest to practically devour each other.
Yet again, could I be blamed? The man was a fucking natural at this shit. No. More than that. Shiraz Cimarron was a man destined to do this to a woman. His kiss was an extension of his being, his passion like a beast eating him from the inside out. He rolled his head in, groaning and growling, making me feel like the Andromeda beneath his Cetus…the virgin given to a god for his pleasure alone. Would’ve been a damn fine analogy, if it wasn’t completely twisted around. Virginal and I had said a very pleasant buh-bye at least seven years ago, when a spin-the-bottle game at an after-game party landed me in the closet with Brodie McMullen. I might be one of the weird girls, but I was also smart enough to see a once-in-a-lifetime chance to jump the baseball team captain when it hit me between the eyes.
Though technically, I wasn’t doing much of the “jumping” tonight.
And it was…amazing.
Even when he reached up, seized my hand, then slammed it against the couch, angling my arm just like the other.
Even when he charged in on my lips again, harsher and harder, holding my tongue hostage to the violent sweeps of his.
Even when he shifted so one of his legs was extended, bracing his foot on the floor, leveraging his body over mine.
Sliding against mine…
Fitting very certain parts of him to very certain parts of me.
I gasped.
He groaned. “Creator have mercy.”
I gulped, fighting shivers, as the contact of his chest sizzled fire into my breasts. “This…isn’t merciful.” My tips hardened, jutting into sharp relief beneath my shirt. Alexander Hamilton’s proud pose achieved bold new meaning.
