Unlike me.
And he must be asking about the mess between my legs.
Like he didn’t know the answer.
He tsked once when I didn’t reply, as though in sympathy. Like Iwasin trouble.
“Delicious librarian,” he said, his thumb exploring now as well as those fingers, creeping close to where I wanted it, but not nearly close enough. “I want your shirt off.”
This man. Already, he had me teetering on the brink.
Grim lifted away, both hands retreating. An involuntary whine escaped me, even as those hands ganged up on my skirt to relieve me of the piece of clothing.
Which, good riddance.
“Now,” he said.
Wait. What had he told me to do? My mind scrambled for the answer.
At that moment, I’d have given him anything. If only he’d just…
Oh. God. Right. My shirt.
Crossing my arms over my torso, I seized the hem of my blouse and lifted upward. When I got my head stuck in the material, he helped to free me, those big tattooed hands much gentler—much more patient—with the delicate fabric than mine.
“Stunning,” he said. And under his raking gaze… I felt that I could be.
The way he admired me. It left me with no doubt that to him, Iwas.
The shirt went somewhere, leaving me there in my pink butterfly bra and not-matching-but-still-thankfully-cute sky-blue lace panties.
Well, at least until Grim knelt in front of me, drawing the latter of the two undergarments down, off, and away.
“Do you have any idea what I’m about to do to you?” he asked—again in that calm but darkly resolved voice. The one that sought to warn me of the retribution I was thankfully already condemned to.
I didn’t have time to do or say anything more than prop myself up on my elbows as he hooked my right leg around his shoulder. And there was no bracing myself for impact, either, when his mouth collided with my core.
I cried out, falling back again as, in a brutal onslaught, he swept his tongue through me, dragging it from opening to clit.
“Oh, God, Grim!”
Merciless, his tongue assailed that small bead of pleasure. He moaned into me, low and raw, like the pleasure was truly his. That sent me careening straight toward the edge of climax. Until, cruelly, his tongue whisked away—right before plunging into me.
Arching, I wailed in surprise, my legs falling open of their own accord.
Back he came to kiss, tease, assail my clit, fingers returning out of nowhere to invade me a second time.
God, what was he doing to me?
My ears rang, blood rushing hot in my veins. Then he emerged to hover over me. This time, thumb taking the place of his tongue, he didn’t leave me wanting.
With that intense gaze locked on me, he worked a steady rhythm, knuckles and rings—now heated almost to the temperature of my skin—brushing against tender flesh.
“Decadent creature,” he said. “You taste as good as your soul. So, I think… I will just have all of you.”
A small whimper escaped me when he moved again, a blur of shadow and smoke until he materialized beneath and behind me, capturing me in those muscled arms, my spine pressed to his chest, his long, jean-clad legs on either side of my open bare ones.
I tried to shift toward him, my knees coming together, but a hand seized me by the throat, holding me steady against him, rings digging softly into the delicate skin of my neck now.
