Chapter 22 #2
A moan tears from her throat, raw and echoing around us. Her thigh trembles against my cheek. The green mark around her wrist flickers brighter as if it’s catching up to her racing pulse.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, tightening her fist in my hair.
“Wasn’t planning to.” I swipe my tongue over her center. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Her soft laughter morphs into a satisfied hiss of pleasure.
“Be as loud as you want,” I say. “I own the whole building.”
“Stop stopping,” she scolds in a shaky voice.
Laughing, I bury my face against her, tongue licking, lips sucking. All of my attention narrows down to her movements and sounds. The arch of her hips, the way she grinds herself against my face, the sweet panting and moaning noises. Discovering all the ways Emery responds to my hands and mouth.
Another sharp cry bursts past her lips and she rests her hand at the back of my head, like she’s prepared to hold me where she needs me most. Her body quivers, then clenches tight. She shudders and shakes through her orgasm, low moans bouncing off the steam-clouded walls.
I ease her down slowly, kissing her inner thigh, then rising to meet her dazed expression. Water streams over both of us. She’s still panting and staring up at me with hazy eyes and a lopsided smile.
“Wow,” she whispers. “You’re really good at that.”
“Glad you approve.” I crank the faucet off, the sudden quiet amplifying our breaths.
I step out first, grab two towels, then offer her my hand to help her out of the tub. I sling my towel quickly around my hips and then wrap the other around her, briskly rubbing it over her arms.
She slips her hand into mine and I lead her back down the hallway to my bedroom.
The door swings open on a room full of nothing but essentials—king-sized bed tucked tight, massive stone fireplace looming silent and cold, closet door cracked open enough to see nothing but a neat row of mostly black shirts, dresser, nightstands, artwork on the walls catching the faint hall light.
Can’t remember the last time I had a woman in here and it shows, but at least there’s no rush to clean up or hide anything from her.
“That fireplace is beautiful,” Emery says, her voice soft compared to the patter of rain against the windows. “Does it work?”
“You still cold?” My plans to explore every inch of her body can wait a few more seconds if it means making sure she’s completely comfortable.
“A little.” She pulls the towel tighter around her.
“Go get under the covers. I’ll start the fire.”
A frown flickers over her face, but she rises on her toes, lips brushing my cheek in a graze that sends heat spiking down my spine. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
She crosses to the bed in a few steps, and I hurry to the fireplace.
I drop to one knee at the hearth, the unforgiving stone cool against my skin.
Kindling waits from earlier—twisted newspaper, brittle twigs, logs split and ready.
Sulfur bites the air as I strike the match, flame hissing to life.
I touch it low and fire catches fast, devouring the paper with sharp cracks, heat blasting my face.
A jab with the poker, and the logs ignite, amber glow flooding the room, chasing shadows up the walls.
I turn, and there she is—kneeling at the bed’s edge, one of my blankets slung loose over her shoulders, parted just enough to bare her breasts, the dip of her stomach, her thighs in the shifting amber light from the fire.
“Absolutely beautiful,” I rasp. The fire pops behind me, its warmth following me across the room.
I slide a hand under the blanket, cupping her breast, thumb circling the tight peak of her nipple. “Thought you were cold?”
She arches into my palm and inhales a sharp breath. “I was. But then watching you start that fire like a big, sexy caveman got me very hot.” As if she needs to prove it, she slides her hand down her stomach, dipping between her thighs, fingers teasing.
“No, you don’t.” I snag her wrist, halting her mid-motion, her pulse hammering against my grip. “All mine.” Quickly, I add, “Tonight.” So I don’t sound like a psycho planning to keep her chained up in my closet.
Her mouth curves into a sly tilt and she reaches for me, resting her hands against my chest—firm, warm, electric.
My thoughts fracture, breath stalling as she kisses along my collarbone, every nerve igniting.
Her gaze pins me in place as she lowers her head and sweeps her tongue over one of my nipples, then the other.
Our shared anticipation doesn’t need any words.
She brushes her lips across my abs, tongue darting out only on bare skin, skirting the edges of ink like she’s mapping safe territory.
My thighs tense, breaths locking in my chest as she moves lower.
Emery
“Emery.” My name is a tortured groan on Declan’s lips.
I hum a response and curl my fingers in the edge of the towel wrapped low around his hips. “May I?”
“Fuck yes,” he says, holding out his hands as if giving me space to unwrap a gift.
I tug and the towel pulls free, revealing everything.
Damn.
I’ve taken in the size of his hands, feet, and the spread from his thumb to index finger and done the calculations. He’s still bigger than I expected.
A glint of silver at the base of his cock snags my attention. A curved barbell piercing through the skin just above where his shaft meets his body. My eyebrows pinch together as I lean in closer. “Is that a…?”
“Pubic piercing,” he supplies.
“Wow. I’ve never seen one in the wild before.” Heat creeps up my cheeks. I probably sound like a nun on a field trip next to this tattooed, muscled sin-poster. “Does it hurt?”
“Not now.” One corner of his mouth tilts up and he slips his hand between my thighs and brushes his thumb near my clit. “It should give you a little extra stimulation.”
“You realize you’re already stimulating all on your own, right?” I glance at it again. “But I’m extremely curious.”
He lets out a long, slow breath that almost sounds like relief. “I was hoping you might be.”
Curious, scared, excited…hell, I can’t name the emotions coursing through me fast enough.
Brave girl that I am, I stare up at him as I wrap my hand around his cock and squeeze. He inhales a shuddery breath.
Gripping him tight, I drag my hand down his length, feeling him pulse under my fingers.
And then I’m stopped by another piece of metal glinting on the ridge of his glans.
“That one should give us both something extra,” he explains in a rough but slightly amused tone.
“Aren’t you just a carnival ride of fun surprises,” I murmur, still staring at it. “Does that one hurt?”
“No.”
I’ve never been so intrigued and turned on at the same time. I’ve seen pictures of special piercings before but never one live and in person.
My thumb hovers over the tip of his cock. “Can I touch it?”
“Yes.” He lets out a strangled groan. “Please, do all the touching you want.”
He’s warm and hard under my fingers but his face holds my attention. Watching bliss spread over his intense expression intoxicates me more than any substance ever could.
I keep stroking, careful not to touch either piercing.
“Fuuuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, his hips bucking forward.
The green mark on my wrist flares warmer, a subtle throb that matches the rhythm building between us, woven into every gasp, every slide.
Slowly, I work my way to the tip and brush my thumb against one end of his piercing.
He sucks in a slow, shuddery breath.
Still stroking him, I ease myself down until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my legs brushing his. I flick my tongue against the tip. Taste his warm, silken flesh, then wiggle it against the smooth, silver metal of the piercing.
He groans low and rests one hand on my shoulder.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and I’ve certainly never tried with someone who had such an intimate piercing. Exploring leisurely, mindful where I place my teeth, I take him into my mouth.
I flick my gaze up, admiring him, even though I’ve already fawned over his body plenty in the short time we’ve known each other. At my mercy, he’s even more magnificent. Shadows from the fire crawl over his skin, catching on the ridges of muscle and the dark lines of ink.
The horse across his ribs turns its head, flanks quivering as if it knows what’s happening and can’t quite bear to watch.
Whoa.
Am I losing my mind?
I freeze, my eyes locked on the shifting ink. The chain coiled around his bicep tightens, the links flexing like muscle before easing again.
Declan’s fingers slide into my hair, sweeping it away from my face.
“Emery?” His voice is low with concern. “You okay?”
I take my mouth off of him but keep stroking him with my hand.
“Your tattoos move,” I say. “I swear the horse turned away from us.”
His body stills, his hands still holding my hair.
“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice rough and solemn. “Sometimes they do that.”
The answer freezes me for half a heartbeat.
“If it freaks you out, we can stop. I get it.” He closes his hand over mine—not to pull me away but giving me the option. The tension in his shoulders says he’s sincere. “We can stop right now.”
That’s the last thing I want. Unable to articulate how much I want him, I stick out my tongue and wiggle it against the tip again.
He groans and tugs my hair. “Emery.” He drags my name out like a warning as I suck him into my mouth, pausing when the barbells click against my teeth. “I’m serious.”
I release him with a soft pop of my mouth and smile up at him. “Glad we’re on the same page there.”
Curious, I scoot back and kneel up on the mattress, bracing my hands against his chest, careful not to directly touch his tattoos. “I have a question, though.”
The poor guy’s standing there with his gravity-defying, bejeweled hard-on aimed straight at me, and here I am ruining the moment with a Q-and-A session?
“What’s that?” he asks with the patience of a gladiator.