Chapter Eight #2
“Just caught me off-guard, sweetheart.” His thumbs brushed over the denim. I didn’t ask him to stop this time.
“Hold still.” I eased the needle back out, wincing slightly. “Did that hurt?”
“No.” His voice was huskier, curling around my senses.
“Almost done.” I blew out a breath. “See, I told you that your calmness was freaking me out.
“You were serious?”
“I just hooked you like a worm,” I argued. “Mike squirms and whines.”
Preacher looked at me like I’d suggested he cut his hair. “Not a chance in hell.”
My lips quirked. “Not even a tiny whimper?”
“When Hell freezes over.” He turned his head, muttering something under his breath I couldn’t hear.
“Then you have to whimper,” I said triumphantly. “There’s a town called Hell in Norway.”
Preacher stared at me like I’d just made that up.
“Check the internet on your phone while I finish these last stitches.” I smiled smugly at him. Sometimes it paid to know useless facts. He was going to whimper, damn it.
“Need a phone.”
I stopped long enough to hand mine over after unlocking it. Preacher was decent enough not to get nosy.
His chuckle was not endearing. “I’ll be damn. You’re right.”
Why did it sound like there was a “but” coming? I knew I was right, but his self-satisfied smile made me hesitate. Tying off the stitch, I cut it then snatched my phone. “See, it says it right here.”
“It’s October.” Preacher leaned back on his elbows, his legs tightening around mine, smiling up at me like the Cheshire cat.
“Your point?” Damn. Why did Preacher have to look so drool-worthy laid back like that, eyes smoldering like he wanted to gobble me whole?
“My point, darling, is that Hell, Norway, freezes over between December and March.” His gaze raked over me, thighs tugging me closer. “I guess that means you have to whimper.”
I was, but not for the reason Preacher thought. Those damn lips taunted me, making me lick my own.
He reached his hand out. “Go ahead.”
“What?” My damn brain had exited the conversation the moment Preacher had leaned back and made himself look edible.
“Kiss me.” He leaned up, pressed his hands back behind my thighs.
Every rational thought fled as I stared down at him, medical supplies forgotten on the nightstand.
“Bold of you to assume I want to kiss you,” I managed, even as heat pooled in my stomach.
Amber eyes gleamed with amusement. “Liar.”
Before I could argue, his grip tightened and he tugged. My knees hit the mattress on either side of his hips, hands bracing against his shoulders to keep from falling completely. The stitches pulled slightly under my palm, reminding me why we were here in the first place.
“Your shoulder—”
“Will heal.” His hands slid up to my waist, thumbs finding the strip of skin where my shirt had ridden up. “Stop overthinking.”
Easy for him to say. My brain was a storm, trying to process wolves snarling, gunshot echoes, the heat of Preacher Deluca beneath me, and the way his gaze locked onto me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I leaned down, slow, watching his pupils swallow the amber of his irises. His grip tightened, but he didn’t rush me. My hands shook as I cupped his face, the coarse hair of his beard rough against my palms.
“Still scared?” His voice was rough, barely a whisper.
“Terrified.” Not of him. Of the way my pulse raced, of how much I wanted this, of what it would change. “But not enough to stop.”
Our mouths crashed together, no hesitation this time. His lips were hot, tasting of smoke and whiskey and something darker, something that made my stomach clench. A whimper clawed its way out of me.
His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue pushed past my lips, demanding. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, sharp enough to make me gasp.
That sound set him off. In one motion, he sat up, pulling me flush against him, his mouth slanting over mine with a hunger that left no room for doubt.
My fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as his teeth dragged along my jaw. “Fuck,” I gasped.
“Been wanting to do this since you glared at me from the concrete,” he growled against my throat, his lips finding the spot where my pulse raced.
“That’s…ah…that’s concerning.” My hips rolled forward, grinding against him, and we both groaned.
His hands slipped under my shirt, calloused palms skimming up my spine. “Take it off.”
I sat up just enough to tear my shirt over my head, baring everything—the sharp angles of my ribs, the bruises blooming on my arm.
“Beautiful,” he said, his voice rough.
His mouth found my collarbone, teeth grazing the ridge, making me hiss as he worked lower, his beard scraping raw against my skin.
When his tongue flicked over my nipple, I arched into it, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
He chuckled darkly, teeth closing around the sensitive peak just enough to make me gasp.
“Preacher,” I choked out as he sucked hard. My cock throbbed, leaking through my jeans.
“Love the way you do that.” His teeth scraped the sensitive peak. “Again.”
I shoved at his shoulders instead, He went willingly, sprawling back against the sheets, amber eyes burning as I crawled down his body. My lips trailed over the dips and ridges of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped, his breath hitching when I nipped at his hipbone.
“Where the hell—” His voice broke as my fingers hooked into his sweats.
“Up.” I yanked them down, and his cock slapped his stomach, thick and flushed, the tip already wet. My mouth watered.
“Trent.” His hand found my hair, not guiding, just holding on. “Your jaw—”
His dick was heavy in my hand, flushed dark. I cut him off with my tongue, licking his cock from root to tip, savoring the salt and musk. His hips jerked when I took his cock into my mouth, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
“Thought you didn’t whimper.” I pulled back just enough to speak and possibly to breathe. Then I swallowed him deeper, inch by inch, using my hand to detract the inches I couldn’t take. I had a lot to work with.
“Motherfuck.” His fingers tightened, hips lifting just enough to hit the back of my throat. “Your mouth—”
I hollowed my cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock as I took him deeper. My hand worked the base, thumb tracing the thick vein pulsing there. His hips jerked, a broken word escaping his lips, half curse, half plea.
“Trent—” His voice was wrecked, the warning clear.
I pulled off with a wet sound, saliva stringing between my lips and his cock. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide, only a sliver of amber left. “Want to hear it again.” Looking up at him through my lashes, I licked my lips. “That sound you make when you’re trying not to beg.”
“You’re a menace.” His breath hitched as I swirled my tongue around the head, lapping at the bead of salt there. “Fuck.”
“And you love it.” I grinned as I crawled back up his body. When I kissed him, he groaned into my mouth, tasting himself on my tongue.
His hands were everywhere—skimming my sides, digging into my hips, yanking at my jeans. He flipped us, pinning me beneath him. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his cock grinding against mine through the rough denim. I arched up, nails raking down his back, and he groaned into my throat.
“Clothes. Off.” He sat back on his heels, yanking my belt free with a sharp snap. The zipper rasped as he dragged it down, then my jeans and underwear were gone, peeled off in one rough motion.
Cool air hit my skin, making me shiver. His eyes raked over me, and I fought the urge to cover myself.
“Don’t.” His voice was a low growl. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Then his mouth was on my cock, taking me deep without warning. My back arched off the bed, a broken sound spilling out. His tongue swept around the head of my dick, teasing the sensitive underside, while his hand rolled my balls, fingers pressing just hard enough to make me gasp.
“Oh fuck. Preacher!” My hands scrambled, fingers gripping his shoulders. His beard scraped against my thighs, the sensation almost too much. “I’m almost—”
His mouth worked my cock, tongue and lips and the occasional scrape of teeth. My hips bucked, chasing the sensation, and he let me, his fingers digging into my thighs to keep me still.
“Please.” The word was a whimper, a plea, something I’d never let myself say before. His eyes flicked up, dark and hungry, and the sight of him, beard glistening, lips stretched around my cock, nearly undid me.