Chapter Forty-One #3
The scrap of fabric was no protection. He pulled the chemise down, my puckered nipple exposed.
He bent down, capturing the stiff peak with his mouth.
He sucked it, and need exploded through my body.
His tongue circled my areola, expertly teasing the nerves there until every fiber of my being was confined to that one point.
Then he nipped at me.
I gasped. He hadn’t pierced the skin, but the jolt went through me like lightning. He tugged again, with his teeth. Biting back indeed.
He followed up with a long, slow suck, the pain dissipating, sharpening with pleasure. “Raphael.” His name was a ragged plea.
“Just like that,” he growled against me. “Just keep saying my name like that.”
He switched sides, a fresh canvas to play with.
My fingers dug into his shoulders as I arched against his mouth, throwing my head back.
The fireworks continued overhead, rushing higher and higher through the sky, but as much as I’d marveled at them, it didn’t compare to how my body felt now, like I was living in the second before they exploded, the same way I’d felt free-falling when I’d jumped from the cliff.
I panted, rasping Raphael’s name over and over between breaths, my ankles hooked behind him, as if he might be in danger of leaving.
His movements didn’t slow, didn’t speed, no matter how I urged him.
I ground my pelvis against him, aching for more.
More friction, more touch. My chemise rode up, skin on skin.
The tip of his erection grazed me, and another level of awareness hit me.
It was one thing to know Raphael wanted me, but feeling the proof of his desire, illicit, hidden by the water, when I could touch him without shame, made me ache in new ways.
“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling away.
He captured my lips again. The kiss was different from before. More raw, more feral. I pulled one hand away, massaging my breast and tugging at the skin as if to create an echo of his mouth.
He maneuvered us through the water, hoisting me onto the landing of one of the boulders, then kissing me once more.
I didn’t care about the rough stone against my back.
I wrapped around him more tightly, desire blooming through me, overpowering every other thought.
With the boulder holding me up, his hands were free to roam.
They were everywhere at once, brushing my hair back, running over the side of my neck, tweaking my breasts as they ventured lower.
“More, Raphael,” I pleaded against his lips. “I need more.” More touch. More sensation. More him.
He was wedged between my hips, but he forced my legs wider, pressing his hand in the space between us. He grazed my inner thighs, trailing his fingers over. This time when I clenched, it was involuntary, but he was too strong for me to move.
His fingers finally dipped lower, trailing over my sex.
The excruciating touch sent tingles through my stomach.
He did it again, coating his fingers. We were both dripping from the water, but I realized it wasn’t the only source of wetness.
He moved between my folds, lightly grazing the sensitive flesh.
My body was slick with need, coating him.
“Sorry.” I pulled back. “I’m making a mess.”
He kissed the side of my lips, a rough chuckle in his throat. “The mess is the fun part.”
He lifted his hand, and I whined at the loss of the touch, until I saw what he was doing. He lifted two fingers to his lips and sucked deeply, holding my gaze.
It was undoubtedly the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. At least until he let them out with a wet sound and groaned. “I told you. Your taste is without parallel,” he groaned.
Fuck. That was hot.
He set his hand between us again, and this time I didn’t feel shame at the way I coated his fingers. He stroked against my entrance, my body too tight to open for him the way I wanted.
He pulled his hand away again, this time lifting his fingers to my lips. “Taste. Taste how much you want me.”
I obeyed, dipping my head forward, holding his gaze the same way he’d held mine. The taste was salty, feminine, and utterly salacious. He shuddered against me, his cock jolting against the inside of my thigh.
“That’s it. That’s my wicked girl,” he praised, slowly withdrawing his fingers.
He stroked and teased expertly, one long finger gently pressing at my entrance while his thumb brushed over my clit. I whimpered against him, my body easing. “I want to feel you inside me.” Just the little taste had me aching for more.
“You’re not ready,” he said. It could’ve sounded like a dismissal, but there was no missing the need in his voice. “I won’t hurt you.”
I didn’t care about ready, though I groaned as he shallowly pumped the finger in.
A delicious stretch, as my body adjusted, but so unlike any of the other sensations.
I hadn’t even known this was an option. But I was undeniably tight.
And this was just his finger. I wanted to feel all of him, but there was no denying the tremor of trepidation that undercut the lust coursing through me.
He pushed a bit deeper, scanning my face. “Okay?”
“It’s good. Different.” My voice cracked as it came out.
“Have you done this before?” Though his movements were controlled, there was no missing the wild look in his eye.
“I’ve never been with another.”
There was a growl in his chest that reverberated through my body.
I wasn’t sure if it was approval or jealousy that I’d even mentioned someone else in his arms. “To yourself, I mean. At night… perhaps when you’re thinking of me.
” The last part he said with a slight smirk that in any other moment would’ve embarrassed me, but now it just turned me on more.
I shook my head. Greymere hadn’t been a safe place to explore adolescence, and I hadn’t particularly felt any urge to. “I’ve explored my body.” Since coming to Damerel. “But not like this.”
He kept pumping in me, stroking. “And do you think of me when you touch?”
“I do.”
He leaned forward, tugging my earlobe lightly with his teeth. The sensation distracted me from just how tight his finger felt inside me.
Fearless for the first time in my life, I continued.
“I imagine you coming to me in the night. I imagine you slipping in, jolting me awake, and you press a finger to your lips. Daring me to be quiet while you slide my nightgown off and replace the fabric with your touch. Sometimes with your fangs.” My breath hitched.
“Or I imagine you on your knees before me. Sometimes we’re in front of others.
Your hands stroking my thighs, your head buried against me. ”
I wondered if I might be going too far with that last one. If someone as powerful as him would be insulted to be used like that.
I really should have known better.
“Fuck,” he groaned against my ear. “Good. Because, my wicked girl, I think about you all the time.”
“What do you think about?” I asked as he pressed another finger inside me. It was so full now, so tight.
“I imagine making you mine.” The word was raw, possessive. “Taking you to my bed and never letting you out. I fantasize about making you beg, then making you come, then making you beg to stop coming because you think you can’t take any more, but I know you can.”
He punctuated each of the last words with a thrust of his fingers. I moaned. I pictured it so clearly as he said it. He threaded his other hand through my hair. I nuzzled his neck as he pushed deeper, whimpering with need.