Chapter 7
Seven
Raven
Istruggle to get the key into the door of my apartment, Declan’s hands inside my jacket and his mouth on mine.
He kisses like he can’t wait to devour me, raw with everything we’ve both been holding back.
I hit the door with my hip, shoving it open even as he pushes my jacket off my shoulders, and it falls to the floor as we spill in. I press him against the wall, fingers clawing at his T-shirt, feeling his hard chest beneath. The clothes are in the way; we’re past that now.
I don’t know what I’m doing with this man I barely know, only that what’s been building between us started the first moment I laid eyes on him.
“Off,” I mutter in frustration, pulling at his belt, working the buckle.
He grins and strips his jacket from his arms, dropping it on mine, and his T-shirt follows quickly.
His pecs are well-defined, his stomach flat, everything I imagined.
I leave his belt to run my fingers over his skin, feeling the ridges of his abs.
Tattoos cover almost every inch of him from waist to shoulder, down both arms too.
Designs I want to explore at my leisure and run my tongue over, but that can wait.
He kisses me again, hands cupping my face, and his touch stings the bruise on my cheek.
It adds a contrast of sensations that makes me moan into his mouth, our tongues playing and our breathing heavy.
My breasts push against his chest and his hands fall to my ass, pulling me in harder.
Mine return to his belt, opening it, and then the button of his pants.
The sides fall away and I push a hand within, discovering he’s going commando.
And his cock is warm and heavy beneath my palm, already hard, the skin so soft. His hips twitch at my touch.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, breaking our kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. “Too many clothes.”
He pulls at the hem of my cropped shirt and I lift my arms, letting him tug it over my head.
His fingers find the clasp of my bra, flicking it open with an ease that suggests he’s well-practiced, and I have to quell the sudden rise of my own nerves.
I’m out of practice, and never had that much to begin with.
Shit. What am I doing in here, with him, like this?
My bra falls to the floor, and his head lowers.
I expect him to go for my breast, my nipples tight and aching for his touch despite my hesitation, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his lips find the side of my neck, his tongue following.
He laps at my skin, then trails kisses across my collarbone while his fingers deftly unfasten my pants.
My body lights up like it had forgotten how to do this, and is only now remembering.
His fingers trace a line from my shoulder down my flank, brushing the side of my breast, across my stomach. I know what he’s doing; he’s following the path of my thorns and flowers tattoo.
“It’s beautiful,” he says, eyes hooded, mouth set firm, expression careful. “Now I’m going to have to find whoever did this and kill him because he’s seen you naked. What a waste. It’s such fine work, too.”
I laugh, a little breathlessly, assuming he’s joking but not fully convinced. “It wasn’t a him, it was a her.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s easier to accept.”
So maybe not joking then.
He drops to one knee before me, and it’s so unexpected, I almost lose my balance.
I grip at his shoulders, looking down at him, wondering why.
Then his hands unzip my boot, and it’s so thoughtful I smile.
Yet he’s not being gentle; he’s in a rush.
The boot’s pulled off, thrown aside, and the other one follows.
“Goddamn riding leathers,” he mutters, tugging on mine. They shift a few inches and snag, revealing the top of my panties. “Impossible to get off in a rush.”
I laugh at the truth of that, but he slides an arm around my legs as he abruptly stands, and I’m over his shoulder.
It’s so swift it catches me by surprise, my breath leaving in a whoosh as I’m carried farther into my own apartment, only to be dropped to my back on the couch. Treated like a sack of potatoes.
His hands grip the hems of my pants, and he yanks.
They come off easily, thrown aside, leaving me just in my panties, already half-pulled off, hanging down one hip.
I move to adjust them, feeling self-conscious, but he gets there first. He’s bending over the arm of the couch, fingers sliding into the waistband, and he strips them down my legs.
I’m naked, and it’s only taken him seconds.
He pauses, standing there, taking me in. I have to fight the urge to cover myself.
“Perfect,” he whispers, half to himself, the word almost reverent. Then his next words are louder. “You’re fucking perfect. Spread your legs. Show me.”
His words make me shiver. It’s one thing being naked before him—it happened so fast anyway. It’s not that I don’t want to be, I do. It’s just… it’s been so long.
I bite at my lip as his gaze runs up my body to my face, a hunger in his eyes that pulls at me. I’m wet, I know I am. And now I have to open myself for him? I’m not sure I can. The seconds stretch. I can feel his eyes on me and I can't make myself move.
Where the hell has my confidence gone?
“Do you fuck the way you fight?”
Apparently not. He’s going to be disappointed.
I’m still trying to summon the strength to do as he asks when his hands close around my ankles, and he drags me along the couch until my ass is up on the arm, my spine curved.
I gasp at the suddenness of it, and now my hips are tilted up to him.
I’m fully naked, while he’s still half dressed, but worse than that, my sex is lifted to him as if in offering.
My cheeks heat with a blush that’s deeper than I can remember in… forever.
He leans over me, pushing my ankles back as he does, bending my legs, and that only makes it worse.
He’s spreading me open because I didn’t do it quickly enough for him, and he’s too strong, pure muscle.
It happens in a second, and now I’m not just naked, I’m exposed.
More vulnerable than I’ve ever been with another soul.
Then his mouth covers my pussy, tongue licking through my folds, and I gasp at the sensation.
No one has ever licked me there. I’ve imagined it, but even in my dreams it was nothing—nothing—like this.
All thoughts of protesting die, swept away before they can form.
He finds my clit, flicking over it, then pushes his tongue deep into my opening.
It pulls another gasp from me which quickly becomes a moan, my legs quivering as his palms hold my thighs back.
I want to say his name, but I can’t draw enough breath, or even think to form words.
All that comes out are whimpers and cries as he folds me in half and fucks me with his tongue.
It penetrates deeper than I’d have thought possible, his face buried in me so firmly that I can feel his stubble against my folds, rubbing coarse against sensitive skin, a rough contrast to the wet heat of his mouth.
Pleasure and sharpness together, making every sensation twice what it was.
It’s almost too much, and I half-kick my legs in reflex. But nothing happens save that his grip tightens. He’s strong enough that I can’t get out from underneath his hold even if I want to. And I don’t, not really, so it doesn’t matter. But some part of me realizes he never asked. He’s just taking.
And for the first time, I’m being driven toward an orgasm by someone other than me, held helpless by his hands and deliciously tortured by the soft, insistent strokes of his tongue.
It’s so intense, my whole body is alive, and I’ve never been this aroused, this wet.
So wet it’s embarrassing. What must he think of me?
I have to stop him.
“Declan…” I manage to speak, and his name is about all I can utter.
“I can’t get enough of the taste of you,” he murmurs against me, punctuating his words with another lick. “You’re gorgeous. Fucking delicious. I could eat you all day.”
Oh… okay. That’s… fine then?
If this is sex, I’ve definitely been doing it wrong.
Hell, I haven’t been doing it at all. I’ve had it done to me, but it’s been so long that all I can remember is lying there, beneath one of the two men I’ve had disastrous relationships with, a minute of fumbling, discomfort, and heavy breathing, and then their weight rolling off me.
Declan has given me more pleasure in two minutes than all of my experiences to this point.
“Don’t stop.” The plea slips from my lips, and I can’t catch it in time.
“Stop, my little hellcat? I’ve hardly started.
” He meets my gaze from between my legs, his mouth wet with my arousal, an easy grin on his face.
He gives me another slow lick, watching me all the while, then speaks again.
“I won’t be finished until I’ve made you come.
” Another long lick, then he uses his thumbs to spread my folds, opening me in a way that’s truly obscene.
“Not just once,” he adds, and blows lightly on my clit.
My hips twitch, my breath catching. “No, I won’t be settling for once. ”
I whimper as his words hit me, making my body react. I didn’t know my nipples could get tighter or ache more. I didn’t know my blush could burn so bright it tinged the tops of my breasts. I didn’t know I could get wetter than I already am.
His tongue lashes across my clit, and my hips buck, my body tensing. I grip the seat cushion beneath me with one hand, the other forming a fist which I shove against my mouth.
“Don’t muffle your cries,” he murmurs. “I want to hear them.”
Dear fucking God. He doesn’t know what he’s asking; the neighbors are going to call the cops.
His tongue goes to work again, circling my clit one moment, licking flat against it the next, more stimulation than I can take.
More than I’ve ever experienced, short of my own efforts, and this feels so much better than anything I’ve done to myself.
My cries come short and high, my shame almost suppressed by the pleasure he’s bringing me, and the noises I’m making fill the room, despite my attempts to smother them.
Then his finger slides inside me, rubs just within, and my world turns white.
If what I’d had before was an orgasm, this is a fucking explosion.
It rips through me and takes everything with it, thought and breath and any last shred of control.
I clench on his finger, unable to stop myself, my cries so loud my fist isn’t enough, and I’m barely able to turn my head and press my face into the back cushion of the couch.
His tongue and finger work together, and it only drives the pleasure higher and higher, on and on, until I feel like I’m floating.
My cries have faded because I’ve no breath in my lungs. I gasp another, my body tightening as a new wave rushes through me, even though his finger has stopped rubbing and his tongue is at last, mercifully, still.
And he’s watching me. Staring at me, with an expression I can’t identify.
Shit.
I crash back to the Earth with a swoop that makes my stomach plummet. I’ve done something wrong, and I don’t know what. That wasn’t my fault. He caused it.
I can’t meet his eyes.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, something in his tone. “I could watch you come a million times and only want to see it again.” It’s reverence. He has reverence in his tone. For me? “Is it always like that for you?”
It’s never been like that for me. But I can’t tell him. Instead, I bury my face behind my hands. My cheeks are wet; I don’t know why. Tears of pleasure? Intensity? Shame? I’m not sure.
He doesn’t seem to mind I haven’t replied, but stands up at the end of the couch, still looking at me, then bends and removes his boots.
One, then the other, and he strips off his pants.
I can’t not look. The breadth of his shoulders, the power of his chest. The way the muscles in his arms bulge and straighten as he moves.
The tautness of his waist, the trail of hair down from his navel to his trimmed pubes, his cock thick and hard and more than I’ve ever had to deal with.
The man is a fucking Adonis, his body sculpted by a master then decorated with ink.
For the first time, I resent tattoos, because they hide some of his perfection.
Yet I can’t deny they suit him, too. A grinning skull in the center of his chest, leaves and flames curling around, geometric shapes blurring into a spiderweb of curls and strands, every inch of him marked and all of it interconnected.
I want to trace each of them with my tongue, then find his nipples with my teeth. I want my mouth on his cock, feeling his soft hardness between my lips. That, I have done—twice—but before now, I’ve never wanted to.
In this moment, I hate my inexperience. Anything else in life, I’d take it head on and beat it into submission. But this? Him? He’s in a different league. How can I possibly compete?
He holds a hand out to me, and I know I should take it but I can’t.
“Come with me,” he says. “I want more. I need you. If I don’t get inside that perfect fucking pussy of yours, I’m going to explode.”
Fuck.
My body tightens again, stomach squirming, pussy clenching like he’s already in me.
Tentatively, I reach out for him, and his hand grips mine.
He pulls me up, not just to sit but straight into his arms, like my weight is nothing to him.
My breasts press into his chest, and then he’s lifting me.
Without thinking, I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands cup my butt, and I’m being carried through my apartment, toward the bedroom.
His cock is pressed hard and warm against my pussy, already so sensitive. With each step it rubs, pulling a moan from me, wanton and low, a noise I’ve never made. He looks down, and the heat in his eyes strips away another layer of my composure.
“Fuck, Genesis. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” What did I do?
“You know exactly what.”
His arms tighten, his fingers press into the flesh of my ass, and the fingertips of one hand slide into my crack. It makes me jump, my thighs clenching around his waist, and I rise up in his arms. His cock rubs against me, and I whimper.
He groans in response, deep and raw, his pale blue eyes turning darker. “Screw the fucking bed,” he mutters, and it’s all the warning I get.
My back hits the wall beside my bedroom door, hard enough to knock me breathless. His hips adjust, his fingers wrap around his cock, and then he spears forward.
Driving into me.