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She gave the barest nod like she knew she should say no but was having trouble fighting her own urges. He loved that she needed him, too, loved that he could give her what she craved.
He moved the fabric of his shirt out of the way, a ripple of arousal going through his spent body at the sight of her, the slick and swollen state of her sex. He found her heat with his fingers.
Her belly dipped with a sharp breath. Yes. That. That’s what he wanted to hear.
He tried to shift over, lift himself up so he could get his mouth between her legs. He’d give anything to taste her again. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was lumbering around like a drugged bear, all heavy-limbed and imprecise. “I think my muscles have liquefied.”
Sam chuckled and stroked his hair again. “Here. I’ve got a better idea. On your back.”
He smiled, this satisfied warmth moving through him, and rolled onto his back. “I like how you think, mistress.”
Sam sat up and unbuttoned the shirt, revealing that beautiful, silky body beneath. He groaned at the sight. So much to explore—pert nipples straining hard in the lamplight, the gentle curve of her belly, and that dark triangle of hair that led to the smooth, wet lips beneath.
He reached out and cupped her breast, rubbing a thumb over one hardened nub. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her lips curved at the corner. “Now I know for sure you’re flying. But thank you. I’ll take it. Tell me you want this, Gib. Tell me you’re still here with me.”
He had no idea why she was being so careful. He’d give her whatever she wanted right now as long as he got to touch her, got to hear her come from his touch. “Baby, I’m so with you, I might die if you don’t get over here.”
Pleasure lit her face, and she dragged the back of her hand over his jaw. He shuddered under the simple touch, and she swung her leg over him, straddling his chest. He glanced up her body, taking his fill. He’d never seen such a perfect sight perched above him. He palmed her breasts, squeezing and watching the flesh plump in his hands, and then guided her down to him so he could kiss and suck and lick at them.
This time it was Sam who groaned as she braced her hands on the side of his head. “Shit.”
He smiled against her breast and dragged gentle teeth over her nipple and then sucked hard. Her thighs tightened against his sides with every pull of his mouth. He could spend all night there, teasing the hardened bud until Sam was panting with need. Already he could feel her slickness against his chest, her spread pussy sliding along him as he shifted his attention to the other breast.
Sam’s breath huffed out quicker now, little tight gasps. “Give me your hands.”
The words didn’t register for a second. But when she reached down, grabbed his hair, and tugged him from her breast, he snapped to attention. “What?”
“Give me your hands. As talented as you are with that, I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
The command in her voice made his spent cock flex with newfound interest. “My apologies, mistress.”
He offered his wrists and she tied the shirt she’d taken off around them. She lowered his hands to his sternum and then walked up alongside his body on her knees. When he realized what she was doing, need rumbled through him, and his cock went fully hard.
Sam braced her hands on the headboard and then straddled his head. Her scent and heat enveloped him. Pretty, slick lips and that tight little bud of her clit, all spread open and right there for him to play with. To worship. This was a feast he’d never get tired of.
“You want to hear me scream, sub?”
“More than anything, mistress.”
She shivered above him as if even his breath on her would set her off. “Get to work.”
He’d never been happier for a job in his life.
“Gladly.”
He put his mouth on her and fell into the oblivion that was Sam.
Chapter 9
There were hands holding her down, pinning her in place on the weed-covered ground. Dirt stung her eyes and the taste of blood was copper in her mouth. Sam tried to kick, swing out, something. But the high-pitched voices in her ear cackled—a familiar, terrifying chorus of female voices. Which didn’t make sense because the snarling face that flashed in her vision was male. The redneck from the bar with the voice of a different tormenter.
Hands ripped at her clothes, punches and kicks destroying her even as the cloying scent of wildflowers filled her nose and the spring sun shined down on her battered skin. A beautiful day to die. She didn’t want to die. She rolled in the dirt, covered her head, her neck, tried to curl into a ball, to make herself small. But she couldn’t escape. Claw-like fingers gripped her ankles. “No!” The word ripped out of her. “No!”
“Sam!” More hands grappled for her. She tried to wrench out of the hold.
“No!”
