Chapter 7 #2
The order hits low.
I pull back, breathless. “I thought I was doing well.”
“You were.”
“Then why are you stopping me?”
“Because if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to finish in your mouth, and I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”
My pulse trips.
There are several responses I could make.
Most of them would preserve my dignity.
Naturally, I choose none of them.
“What if I want to be?”
He closes his eyes.
“Fuck.”
I smile before I can help it.
It is probably a terrible smile. Too pleased. Too powerful. Too aware that I have just discovered a button and will absolutely press it again in the future.
His eyes open.
“You like making me lose control.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I did say I was aiming for that.”
His hand slides from my hair to my jaw, rough thumb brushing my lower lip.
“You want my control, love?”
I nod.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Then take it.”
So I do.
This time, his hand stays in my hair.
This time, he guides me.
His fingers tighten when my mouth closes around his cock again, not forcing, not pushing, just there. A rough anchor. A reminder that he is letting me have this, but he is still Shadow. Still control and restraint and danger under my hands.
He is hot and hard on my tongue, heavy in a way that makes my pulse trip.
I move slowly at first, learning him. Learning the stretch of my lips around him, the taste of salt and skin, the way his stomach tightens when I take him deeper.
His breath leaves him in a rough sound.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Easy, love.”
Easy.
Nothing about this feels easy.
It feels wicked.
Powerful.
Like I’ve found a crack in the armor of a man who looked untouchable, and all I had to do was put my mouth on him.
I pull back, then take him again, braver this time. My tongue drags along the underside of him, and his hand flexes in my hair.
“Fuck.”
The word is low. Broken at the edges.
I like it too much.
I do it again.
His hips jerk once, then stop hard.
I look up.
His jaw is clenched. His eyes are on me, black in the red motel light, and the sight of him watching me while I learn how to undo him makes heat bloom low in my stomach.
“Don’t look at me like that unless you mean it,” he says.
I let my mouth slide lower.
His head tips back for half a second.
That feels like victory.
His fingers tighten again. “Breathe through your nose.”
My cheeks burn.
I should be mortified.
I am not.
I do what he says. Breathe. Take him deeper. Let my tongue move the way he showed me without words, following every rough inhale, every twitch of his fingers, every curse he tries to swallow.
“Good girl,” he says, voice wrecked. “Just like that.”
The praise melts through me.
I hollow my cheeks because instinct tells me to, and his whole body locks beneath me.
“Talia.”
My name sounds ruined in his mouth.
I pull back slowly, then lick him from base to tip, testing, teasing, watching his control fracture in tiny pieces.
A flex of his jaw.
A curse under his breath.
A rougher grip in my hair.
The blanket twisting in his other fist.
Shadow, dangerous and calm and impossible to shake, is shaking because of me.
Because of my mouth.
Because I want him this way.
I take him again, deeper, letting the weight of him press against my tongue. My eyes water a little. I ease back, breathe, then do it again.
His hand loosens instantly.
“You good?”
I nod as best I can.
His thumb strokes once against my scalp, rough and careful at the same time.
“Don’t push too hard.”
I almost laugh around him.
The man is half undone beneath me and still trying to protect me from myself.
Ridiculous.
Mine.
So I take him deeper until his control snaps.
He comes with a harsh groan, one hand fisted in my hair, the other twisted in the blanket. His whole body goes rigid beneath me, scarred muscle and restraint and raw male surrender.
His grip loosens the second it’s over.
The second.
Like even shattered, even wrecked, some part of him is still checking himself for me.
That does more damage to my heart than anything else.
I lift my head slowly.
Shadow looks destroyed.
Beautifully, dangerously destroyed.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then his hand slides to my jaw, rough and careful, and he pulls me up his body into his arms.
I go willingly, suddenly shy now that the boldness has burned down.
He kisses me, deep and filthy and tender in a way that makes my throat ache.
When he pulls back, his hand cups the back of my head.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod.
His eyes narrow. “Words.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m good.”
“Good girl.”
My stomach flips.
Of course he feels it.
His mouth brushes my ear. “That one too, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Not a chance.”
I hide my face against his chest, which is a mistake because he smells like skin and heat and something terrifyingly close to mine.
His arm locks around me again. His lips brush my hair.
“Sleep, love.”
I close my eyes.
Curled against the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.
Feeling safer than I have any right to feel.