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But Kane Knight is experienced and knows what he wants.
And he wants me.
Traitor self-consciousness tries to tell me it’s not true as our hands send tingling signals and he leads me up the stairs and into the cabin.
He swings the door open and soft yellow light glows into the night in a rectangle from the door, lighting us both, Kane’s smirk twisted sideways as his gaze shifts up and down my body, small muscles moving in his mouth like he’s deciding whether to eat or have sex with me.
He looks like the beast he is.
Behind him there’s a living room with a leather couch and a large flat-screen TV, and past that a kitchen with an island, and then the hallway and something around the corner, the bedroom.
The bedroom.
And Kane is going to take me there.
My heart thunders in my chest like it’s trying to shatter something, again and again, my past pain trying to pry away this moment.
“Kelly,” he says, stalking close. “I need to taste you, all of you. I’m a fucking savage and I need you. Just you.”
My sex flames and hisses and my clit burns and everything is hot, fiery, as I take his hand and squeeze solidly. I push my doubts out to sea and let them float away, riding instead this shimmering promise inside of me, my body answering the primal hunger in his eyes.
We head into the bedroom, the bed low and stylish, the surfaces clean and not-lived-in, and already my mind is doing frankly silly things. I’m mentally filling the bedroom with items, with an old-style brown alarm clock on the bedside table, an elegant canvas above the bed, a different set of more rustic-colored curtains.
I want to turn to Kane and throw myself at him, but my nerves are still nibbling, insistent and incessant.
He walks up behind me and wraps those giant arms around me, a solid mass of flesh through the thinness of his shirt.
He leans down and angles his groin, dragging his solid manhood along my ass.
I wriggle side to side, feeling his firmness shift with the movement, grinding against the denim of my jeans. I bend forward and arch my hips, led by his hand on the small of my back, bending me over as I rock there, rubbing through our clothes, and even this sizzles against my wet womanhood, my pussy, my freaking pussy is getting so wet.
“Let me taste you,” Kane says sternly, guiding me to the bed and bending me over on all fours, handling me, and it feels so good to be handled by Kane Knight, a man. “Jesus, look at that ass. Bend over and peel those fucking jeans down. If I don’t taste your tangy fucking pussy, I’ll die.”
“Tangy?” I whisper, giggling slightly. “Is that a good thing?”
“Kelly, the way you smell, I know it will be. I can smell your womb, your juices, how badly you want to take my seed.”
My body shivers, telling me it’s true, and yet my mind is still hammering on the walls of this moment checking for weaknesses, ready to crash through at any moment.
I slam it down.
I stamp on its neck.
I want Kane.
And he wants me.
The relatively cool air of the cabin pricks my naked sex as I slide down my jeans and panties at once, my hole tingling around the edges. My clit feeling raw and needing to be rubbed, my lips stuck together with wetness that is begging for his hand to rub between and separate, peeling away my wetness.
Kane grabs my ass cheeks and leans down, stroking his tongue around my hole.
“Fucking hell,” he growls, his breath painting hotly onto my bare pussy. “You taste like heaven. You better come soon. I want to drink you down.”
He grabs my ass cheeks harder, leaving me to arch my back and sink into the position he’s made for me with his hands, making his tongue erect and then sliding it against me.
I squeal as a sudden, unusual pleasure flurries through me, dancing around me like waves. I squeeze my hands on the sheets, grabbing tangles of them, and almost collapse forward as I feel his tongue move inside me.
No, no.
My pussy’s getting tighter, a sudden release of impossible pleasure teasing at the edges of each motion.
I rock back and forth, riding his tongue, his growls carnal and manic now, the rumbles of a predator who’s primed his prey, ready to take them, to take me.
“I’m—I’m—”
But I don’t know what I am or how to explain it.
Suddenly I’m floating.
I’m in a hot bath that’s starting to catch on fire, every part of me scorched, aching, ready for more as wave after juicy orgiastic wave crashes through me.
I’m screaming and gushing all over his tongue, his hands making deep imprints in my ass cheeks, probably leaving Kane-shaped prints.
