CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #3
It’s not a kiss; it’s a mouth fucking. And every part of my mouth is his to conquer.
My tongue is his to suck on. My taste is his to gorge on.
Even my teeth are his to clack against. He’s devouring me like the prey I am.
His prey. And he’s doing it like he hasn’t hunted in a long time.
Or maybe he has, but nothing that he came across felt worthy of his hunger.
Felt worthy to be eaten like he’s eating me.
And it’s true, isn’t it? If he’s my fate, I’m his fate too.
The one he watches. The one he burns and aches for.
The one he wants beyond all reason. Now he finally has me.
As scary as it is—because now I know for sure, once this is over, no part of me will survive; I’ll be his forever—it only makes me needier for him. Hornier and more impatient.
I open my mouth wider and let him take me.
I surrender myself to his roughness and let him eat me alive.
I tighten my arms around him along with my thighs and kiss him back.
Maybe I’m doing a bad job of it. Maybe I’m not as shameless or X-rated as he is, but I don’t care.
Because I know he likes it. I know he loves it because the moment I start tasting him back, even if shyly and like a college girl, he groans.
His entire body shakes and his grip around me falters.
It’s like I struck him with lightning rather than give him a soft kiss. A tender kiss. A kiss of love.
So I do it again.
This time I bring my hands to his cheeks and caress the sharp slopes of his face.
Caress his angled jaw moving over my mouth, stroke his scar, which makes him groan and sigh into my mouth.
And I realize why he loves it so much. Just like I need a dose of adrenaline, a dose of sharp fear to jolt me out of my numb existence, the kind only he can provide.
He needs a soft touch. He needs fluffy, girly kisses and faltering, inexperienced lips like mine to smooth the hard edges of his life.
Like everything about him, about this, it makes me even wetter and hornier.
So much so that I start moving against his body.
I start humping his stomach like I did back at the cliff.
I’m not shy about it either, or even remotely hesitant like I was that night.
Although it was also because I didn’t want to hurt him.
In any case, my movements are expert and deft and hitting just the right spot because holy God, if I keep doing that, maybe I’ll come.
A second later, though, there’s no maybe about it.
I know I will because he will make me. Because he’s helping me.
Actually, he’s egging me on. He’s moved his arm down from around my waist and put it under my butt, grabbing it tightly.
And since he’s so big and strong, he’s using that to bounce me up and down his ridged stomach.
He goes so far as to lean back and bend down to make me a lap to sit on so it’s easier for me to writhe against him.
To hump him and chase my pleasure down below while he fucks my mouth with his tongue up above.
It doesn’t take me long to go to pieces on his body and I come with a loud, pained moan.
That he gulps down his throat. I go limp against him then and just revel in his mouth.
At some point, the skies open up and rain comes pouring down.
Which I love because how many people get to have their kiss in the pouring rain?
It’s romantic. It’s what they write about in books and poems. At some point, he also begins walking, me still clinging to him, our mouths still fused together.
In the back of my mind, I wonder if we’ve taken a breath all this time or if our kiss is our air now.
Our swollen lips are what we’re breathing in and our moans are what we’re breathing out.
And it’s not an exaggeration because when we do break off here and there, we don’t go anywhere.
We keep our lips sliding across each other.
Or rather, he doesn’t let me go anywhere.
He tightens his grip and keeps his mouth on mine.
Not that I would want to break our connection, but something about how he doesn’t want us to be apart, even for a single second, makes those candies and hearts, those dreamy things go crazy inside of me.
And why would he? He waited for it a lot longer than I did, and my wait already feels like the longest anyone has had to wait for a kiss.
A few seconds later I hear a door being pulled open, and even though my eyes are closed and I’m busy kissing the man I love, I know where we are.
We’re in his room. Or rather his barn. Just like at Rawhide, this is where he sleeps at night.
This is where he slept that first night too.
I haven’t been inside of it, though; a stupid effort to keep my distance from him and keep living my life in fear like I’ve always done.
But I decide to check it out the first chance I get.
I also decide to get to the bottom of why he sleeps here when he has a perfectly good house at his disposal.
While we’re at it, whose house is it, and why have I been so stupid so as not to ask him that?
All my thoughts vanish when I feel him come to a halt.
This time when we break off, I open my eyes only to find his already on me.
They’re dark, his pupils blown wide and so intense that they make me tremble.
His mouth is all swollen and ravaged-looking, and his face is drenched, water sluicing down the planes of his features.
He lost his Stetson somewhere and his dark hair’s plastered to his forehead.
He’s breathing with an open mouth, his chest going up and down wildly, and I fall in love with him a little more in this moment, at how raw he looks, cut open almost by our kiss.
I wonder what I look like in this moment. If he can see how our kiss has affected me, gone and made me fall in love with him even more.
In the next breath, both his hands go under my drenched dress and he grabs my ass.
I gasp at his possessive hold and fist his hair.
I gasp louder and jerk against him when he fists my rain and cum-soaked panties and rips them in one go.
I knew he said he’d do that, but dear Lord, it’s so hot, I can’t catch my breath.
This time when he grabs my butt, it’s naked with my tattered panties hanging around my thighs somewhere, and he squeezes my flesh so hard that I undulate against him, moaning, my eyes fluttering closed.
“Eyes on me,” he commands like I knew he would.
He likes to watch; I know that. But it’s hard getting them to open when he’s kneading my ass down below, at once giving me so much pleasure and pain with his rough fingers.
“R-Radisson,” I whimper.
He breathes against my mouth, peeks his tongue out and licks my lips instead of his as he says, “One more.”
“Wh-what?”
Instead of telling me, he shows me like he’s wont to do.
He begins bouncing me up and down, making me hump his stomach like before and it feels so good that I’m powerless to stop him.
I’m powerless to do anything but pant against his mouth, letting him lick it so he can taste my sweet lips as he makes me stare into his eyes and dance on his torso.
He goes so far as to swirl his fingers, for the lack of a better word, in my pussy.
He strokes the seam of my core as he moves me up and down, feeling my swollen wetness.
“Come on, Princess,” he rasps. “Gush on my fingers and wash off the rain. Don’t want anythin’ else soakin’ me when I’ve got your sweet cunt to pop for me like a bottle of champagne.”
“Oh, God,” I moan and do it.
I obey his command and gush on his fingers. Like there was any other choice for me. Like I’d ever not obey his every command and give him whatever he wants. And he likes that because, groaning, he kisses me again and calls me his good girl.