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Touching her meant everything. Touching her right now was as imperative as breathing.
He moved his hand around her thigh again, sliding his fingertips over the soft damp crotch of her panties.
“Emerson.” He groaned her name as his forehead rested against hers. “You’re wet.”
Her face flushed brighter as her hips jerked, pressing her silk-covered flesh more firmly against his fingers. She wanted, she needed, just as desperately as he did.
He moved his hand higher, slid his fingers into the low band of her panties, and a groan tore from his throat as his fingers feathered over damp curls. Sweet, heated dampness beaded on silky curls, drawing his touch, his hunger, as nothing else could have.
He couldn’t stop himself. He had to have more. He wanted to see her face, watch her eyes as he took more. And he did. His fingers slid into the narrow slit, parted sweetly swollen folds, and found the nectar of the gods.
“You’re hot.” He was burning alive in her heat. “Hot and sweet, Emerson.”
Hot and sweet. Emerson stared back at Macey, fighting to breathe, to make sense of the wild sensations tearing through her. She couldn’t find the strength to pull away from him this time. She felt weak, senseless, unable to process anything but the pleasure. The feel of his fingers sliding through her pussy, parting the sensitive lips, circling the entrance to her vagina.
She lifted closer, standing on her tiptoes, desperate to encourage his fingers to delve further, to slip inside her, to ease the tight knot of pressure building in her womb.
She needed to orgasm. Oh yeah, she needed that so bad. Just this once, in his arms, to know the culmination of this pleasure.
A finger slipped inside her. Callused, firm, confident, it parted the tight muscles and sent her senses careening. Flames seared her nerve endings and she felt as though she was burning alive in his embrace, coming apart at each touch.
“This is going to be mine, Emerson,” he snarled, his finger thrusting inside her, sending waves of heat and violent pleasure through every cell of her body. “You’re going to be mine. You know you are.”
“Macey.” Her head tipped back as she fought the sensations. “You don’t understand…”
His fingers moved inside her, fracturing her senses. But nothing could cover the feel of something … something smooth twining around her ankle.
She jerked, looked down. Her eyes widened. Terror ripped through her senses as a bloodcurdling scream tore from her throat.
Emerson jumped as a pointed head lifted, the flickerin
g tongue touching her bare ankle. Nothing mattered but escape.
She was screaming, screeching, trying to crawl into Macey’s body, frantic to evade a bite from the biggest, most terrifying snake she had ever seen in her life.
One minute she was climbing Macey’s body, the next he was cursing and they were falling. Was he laughing?
They rolled away from the too-long, too-thick reptile, but it wasn’t enough. Emerson scrambled to escape. She felt her knee hit Macey’s body, heard his grunt, his strangled curse. Clawing at the wood floor, she finally managed to drag herself up on the bed, panting, certain the snake had followed.
But it was gone. It was gone and Macey was curled up on the floor, his hands cupped between his thighs as something between a laugh and a groan left his throat.
“It’s a snake!” She jumped to the floor now that it seemed to be gone and tugged on his arm. “Get up, Macey. It’s huge. Oh my God, it’s horrible.”
He was laughing?
Emerson stared around the room, caught sight of the huge reptilian head peeking from beneath a chair, and screamed again. She was back on the bed, staring at the chair in horror.
“Macey, get up. Oh my God. Macey, get up.” The head was the size of a platter, and surely its mouth was large enough to swallow an ankle whole.
“Drack.” Macey groaned, pulling himself to his knees and giving a faintly wheezing cough.
“Are you crazy?” she screamed, watching the chair carefully. “Where’s the gun? Tell me and I’ll get it.” She was terrified he wasn’t going to get off the floor in time.
“Drack.” He laughed; he was laughing, for pity’s sake.
Emerson stared back at him, fighting the panic, the fear.
“What the hell is Drack? Macey, please get on the bed.”
