Peaks.
My muscles clamp down as Ierupt,spine curling, fingers tangling with his hair as he lifts his hand from my lower belly, releasing me.
I tug at the inky strands, wailing through the violent bolt of pleasure—wild and unleashed. I thrust against his face, softening with each roll of my hips until my muscles melt to buttery splendor.
He flattens his tongue against me, lapping, wringing out the last of my orgasm’s fluttered heartbeat until I’m past the whittled end. Planting a kiss upon the inside of my thigh, he watches me from beneath the heavy fall of his lids, unraveling, breath blown out on a growl.
He rises, licking his lips. My legs still splayed before him.
I’m honey—warm and loose. Begging for something else.
Somethingmore.
His hands drop to his pants, unbuttoning, and my heart lodges in my throat. I suck a shuddered gasp, eyes widening as he shucks them off, releasing his hard manhood—so thick and embossed in veins as pumped as the ones on his body.
A pearly bead leaks from the tip.
I moan, hungering at the sight of him, wondering what he would taste like. My hand threads down my body at the thought, fingers sliding through my slick folds, swirling around that bundle of nerves. Wanting.
Needing.
Watching every swirl, every dipping sweep, he makes this raw, carnal sound. The tension between us grows tighter.
Tighter.
He moves, lifting me. Flipping me around effortlessly, my back flush with his heaving chest.
I reach—hands delving through his hair.
He binds me with his arm, nudging my head aside and laving at the sensitive skin below my ear as his hand eases between my legs, cupping me.
Holding me.
Then his fingers are coasting around my entrance. Spreading me.Inme—thrusting.
Stretching.
Enriching me with a roll of slow, steady pumps.
My entire body tides with the motion, and I rock against him while he plants kisses upon my ear, easing his hand up under my shirt and brushing the tender peaks of my nipples.
My sensual moans bruise the atmosphere.
He rumbles as he tries to thread another finger in, strumming the strings of my already singing euphoria. “You’re not ready for me, Milaje …”
Ahh—
In a knee-jerk reaction, I manage to yank myself from his hold. From the thrusts of pleasure his fingers are devastating me with.
I clamber up to the tune of his sawing growl, spinning.
He’s crouched on the ground where I left him—a sculpture of impeccably carved brawn, his eyes swirling shadows regarding me with crippling focus.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I declare, walking backward through the underbrush, watching him from beneath my lids.
He rumbles, fisting his thick length in slow pumps, the vision so raw and erotic my knees almost give way. “I’m not a regular man, Milaje. My body wasn’t built to be broken. It was built tobreak.”
I remember the way he handled my hair while he severed the heavy lengths, like a giant cradling a mouse.
