Chapter 29
Sabrina didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
Lust had melted her bones. Passion had turned her muscles to mush. The sight of Hew, so long and strong and so very, very naked, had scrambled her brains.
She’d known he would be beautiful. But she’d never imagined the sheer grandeur of so much sun-warmed muscle. Every inch of him was dusted with a golden tan. And his body hair was two shades darker than the hair on his head—a deep, coffee brown.
His nipples were flat brown disks atop the heavy squares of his pectoral muscles. Impossibly broad shoulders tapered down into lean hips. And his thighs were thick and corded with muscle.
There was a rawness to him. It was in the way his scars marked him, visual reminders that he’d lived and fought and bled. It was in the way his dick jutted unabashed from the crux of his thighs, thick and long and looking like it’d been carved in a wilder century.
There was no artifice or polish to him. Just the sheer unapologetic truth of a man built for strength and sex and sin.
He grinned like he knew what the sight of him did to her. Then he grabbed her fingers and pulled her onto the bed with him.
“Face away from me and lean against my chest,” he instructed.
She frowned. She wanted to look at him. Wanted to kiss him and touch him and spread her legs around his hips and—
Edge ya ’til you scream.
His words echoed through her head, making her blood run thick. Making her sex pound.
She wasn’t an innocent. She knew what edging was, although she’d never experienced it herself. Had never had a lover who’d expressed any interest.
She hadn’t known she had an interest until now. Until Hew.
Then again, if he asked me to stand on my head and recite the alphabet backward, I would.
She was completely caught up in the spell he’d woven. Certain that doing everything he asked would end in the kind of pleasure that shook her, body and soul.
So she settled between his thighs. His dick wedged against the top of her ass and lower back. He splayed her hair across his chest—just like he’d dreamed—then cupped her chin so her head rested against his shoulder.
“Now.” He nipped at her exposed neck. His breath was hot. Sultry. Seductive. So were his words. “Relax and let me learn all the ways you like to be touched.”
Hooking his hands beneath her knees, he bent her legs until her feet were planted on either side of his thighs, her sex spread wide.
“Hew,” she whispered, exposed in a way she’d never been before.
“Trust me, sweetheart.” He turned her head so he could claim her mouth.
She did trust him. She trusted him more than she’d ever trusted anyone.
She loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone.
And if this was the only time they would be together, if he was doing this because he’d been the one to walk beside her on her healing journey, and this was the last step, then she would revel in it.
Indulge in every sweet sensation. Bask in every brush of his fingertips, savor every kiss from his lips, and delight in every pleasure he pressed on her.
Would that ruin her for any man in the future?
Probably.
But it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Didn’t someone smart say that?
She couldn’t remember. Probably because his kiss melted her brain.
His lips were warm and searching. His tongue was hot and carnal. He tested her, teased her, learned her. And only when she was completely caught up in the play of his mouth did he use his big hands to cup her breasts.
His palms were so large and warm. His fingers so rough with calluses. But he was careful as he brushed them over her distended nipples. Gentle and thorough and studied as he found just the right amount of friction. Just the right amount of pressure.
She gasped and pulled her mouth from his so she could arch into the sensation, wanting more of it. Needing more of it.
But he was in no hurry. So she leaned her head against his shoulder, screwed shut her eyes, and enjoyed the ride.
“Touchin’ ya like this has me so hot I’m shakin’,” he murmured against her temple, playing with the tips of her breasts until they were so hard they hurt.
Time and space ceased to exist. There was only him. Only her. Only the way he pinched and stroked and plucked and plumped.
By the time he drifted one hand down the centerline of her body, both of her hands were fisted in his hair. Holding on for dear life against the agonizing pleasure of his ministrations.
He was slow as he teased her open. Gentle as he slid fingers over her distended clitoris.
“Oh, god!” she gasped when he set up a delicious, strumming rhythm that created a torturous friction.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, pressing and rubbing, pressing and rubbing until her whole body was as taut as a bowstring and vibrating with need.
“Hew!” she cried out when his fingers suddenly stilled.
He cupped her then, his palm hot compared to the air in the room. Claiming her mouth, he silenced her pleas, swallowed her objections, and gently ground the heel of his palm against the part of her that ached the most.
It settled the sensation. Tamped it down from a fiery ache to a soft, needy want. And through it all, he kissed her. Deeply. Thoroughly.
When she finally quieted, when the edge of orgasm receded and she stopped twisting and turning against his hand, he began to play with her again.
Just like the first time, he softly, slowly, gently tormented her clit to the point of pain. Only, this time, when she was close to the top of that steep slope, he dipped his fingers into her quivering center, stroking and beckoning in a come-hither motion.
Her back arched. Her womb pulsed. She reached for orgasm but—
Again, he stopped. Again, she protested. And again, he expertly brought her back down until the terrible tension eased and her clenched muscles relaxed.
It was heaven.
It was hell.
It happened over and over again until she lost count of the number of times she’d almost, almost slipped over the edge.
At one point, she didn’t know if she should beg him to stop or tell him to keep teasing her forever. She wanted both. And so she let him do as he pleased until she was mindless to anything that wasn’t his magical hands and talented mouth.
By the time he whispered, “Okay, sweetheart. Cum for me,” she was incapable of doing anything other than he commanded.
Her eyelids slitted. She could see his profile from beneath her lashes. The determined clench of his jaw. The subtle flare of his nostrils. The prurient intensity of his gaze as he watched what he was doing to her.
She might have been embarrassed, exposed to him like she was, vulnerable and submitting to him like she was. But he’d pleasured her past the point of caring about anything other than her body’s desperate need for release.
When she came, it was so sudden that it surprised her. She didn’t know if she cried out his name or whimpered in relief as her body clamped down tight around his marauding fingers.
A kaleidoscope of colors exploded behind her eyelids when wave after wave of painful pleasure crashed through her. Her hips worked. Her heart thundered. Her sex shuddered and clasped and gripped in greediness for more, more, ever more.
He gave it to her. Teased her. Stroked her. Worked her until the last ripples of release faded away and she was left sated. Languid. Collapsing against his chest as his heart raced against her back, and his breaths came harsh and heavy.
“Holy hell. That was hot,” he grumbled after he’d given her time to recover.
She murmured her disapproval when he slipped his fingers from inside her. But then he rubbed her own wetness around her areola, and it was enough to have tiny aftershocks shaking her core.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, her coming down from the throes of the hardest orgasm she’d ever had. Him continuing to lazily play her body as expertly as a master musician plays his instrument.
Eventually, though, reality returned.
Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal he was still avidly interested in the length of her splayed out in front of him. His hands continued to skate over her skin with the kind of hot hunger that had her stretching and murmuring and smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“I was right.” She turned her face to nip at the skin of his neck.
“About what?” His voice was ragged with unquenched lust.
“You do have secret ways to make me gasp and moan, endless tricks to make me writhe and beg.”
He growled his satisfaction. Before she could think, she was flat on her back with him looming above her.
She bit her lip at the passion in his eyes. “Is it your turn now?” she teased, lifting her head to nibble at his lower lip, loving the scrape of his beard against her chin.
“Not quite yet.” And then his mouth landed on her breast, and his hot tongue stabbed at her nipple.