Page 76 of Haunted Spurs

Instead of sinking in, he ducks his head. His hot, wet tongue starts tracing a path up my body. He starts at the side of my breast, draws a line across my collarbone, trails up my neck, and stops right below my ear.

A violent shiver covers me in goosebumps as his lips part against my earlobe.

"No missionary this time," he whispers.

Bastard.

Fucking, diabolical bastard. I knew he'd done that on purpose.

Without waiting for a reply, he grabs my right leg and lifts it, hooking my calf right over his shoulder. It's an angle that opens me up completely.

He glides his length against my slit again, spreading my wetness.

Then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushes inside.

The only sound in this room is the wet noise of him making room for himself inside me. He fills me with torturous slowness, stretching me, spreading me, until I am completely full of him.

Right down to the very last inch.

When our hips meet, Ron stops for a second. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and lets out a long, shaky exhale.

"Christ," he pants against my skin. "I missed you."

Me too.

I mean... um. Not him. Of course not. But the insane way he has sex. That, yes. This man's supernatural ability to take a demon and drag her straight to heaven.

He brings his left hand to my breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb, right as he finally starts to move.

The first thrust is deep, devastating. He pulls back until he's almost entirely out, only to drive back inside with a force that makes my spine arch. The angle of my leg over his shoulder lets him hit that exact, deep, sensitive spot that makes me see stars behind my closed eyelids.

The wet slap of our sweaty bodies crashing together turns into a hammering, primal rhythm.

His hand slides off my breast. It trails up my throat, spreads out, and wraps around my neck.

He stops. He doesn't squeeze.

He looks me in the eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily, and gives me a mute nod, a silent question in his gaze, waiting to see if I'm okay with this, if it's a boundary he can cross.

In response, I can't help but let out a husky moan, tilting my chin up to bare my throat for him.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he growls, his face tight with pleasure, and he sinks even deeper into me, rocking the bed. "You can't even imagine... how amazing it feels to be inside you."

I bite my lip, trying desperately to mask the impact of those words.

"Yeah..." I pant. "I imagine anything capable of squeezing your cock feels amazing. How about you squeeze my throat a little tighter, speaking of which?"

He obliges instantly, closing his fingers around my throat. The calculated pressure cuts off just enough air to make the sensation of pleasure burning through my core explode. But his gaze isn't compliant. It's fierce.

"Absolutely not," he answers, his eyes boring into mine. "With you, it's unique." He thrusts, ripping a cry from my lips. "You're perfect."

It's unique.

You're perfect.

No one has ever said things like that to me. Never. Not even to get me into bed.

I feel a pang in my heart that has absolutely nothing to do with lust. I close my eyes, turning my face into the pillow, and desperately try to build a wall around those words so I don't let them cut too deep into my chest.