Chapter 12 #3
I didn’t finish the sentence before his mouth crashed down on me.
No preamble. No hesitation. One moment he was kneeling between my thighs, and the next his lips were on me, hot and hungry and devastatingly precise, and the sound I made was not a moan but closer to a sob.
His tongue swept through my folds with a broad, flat stroke that dragged from my entrance to my clit and back again.
My back arched off the bunk so hard my shoulder blades left the surface.
The heat of his mouth was staggering. His lips sealed around my clit and sucked, and the vibration of his thrumming, that low continuous hum originating deep in his chest, transferred through his mouth and into my flesh, and I shattered.
Not an orgasm, not yet, but a collapse so profound it reduced the architecture of my composure to dust.
My fingers threaded into the long white hair that fell around his face. I didn’t pull. I held on because the room was spinning, and the only fixed point was his mouth between my thighs.
His tongue was relentless, working me with a focus that bordered on obsessive, broad strokes alternating with tight, focused circles that made my legs shake, and my breath come in short, desperate gasps.
He licked into me like he was trying to memorize my taste, and every time his tongue found my entrance and pushed inside, my hips bucked against his face, sounds escaping me that I would have been mortified by under any other circumstances.
And then his fangs.
I’d forgotten about them. In the frenzy of everything, the touching, the tasting, the desperate, aching need, I’d forgotten that his mouth held something other than a tongue.
The tips of his fangs grazed my labia, and I flinched, a spike of instinctive fear cutting through the pleasure, but his hand found my hip and held me still with that gentle, immovable pressure, and then the flat of one fang dragged across my clit.
The sensation was electric, creating a friction that his tongue alone couldn’t replicate, and the sound I made was loud enough that I dimly worried about it reaching anyone within a hundred yards.
At the moment, I didn’t care. His mouth was doing something to me that rewired every nerve ending I possessed.
The fang dragged across my clit again, slower this time, his tongue following in its wake.
The combination of hard and soft, textured and smooth, pushed me toward an edge I could feel approaching like a freight train.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped, and my fingers tightened in his hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”
The growl that rolled out of him traveled through his lips and into my flesh, a low, devastating frequency that nearly undid me.
His tongue drove deeper, curled, found the place that made my thighs lock around his head.
Lips latched and sealed my clit and pulled.
The detonation I’d felt building in my core for the last several minutes finally ignited.
My vision dissolved at the edges as I flew apart.
The orgasm hit me like a wall of water, crashing over me with a force that ripped a scream from my throat.
My back bowed off the bunk, my hands fisting in his hair.
Vennox didn’t pull away. He stayed with me, his mouth working through every pulse and clench, his tongue gentling but not stopping, drawing the orgasm out until it became almost painful in its intensity.
When my release finally ebbed, I collapsed back against the bunk like a marionette with cut strings.
My chest heaved. My thighs trembled. The cool cushion of the platform was a shock against my fevered skin, and the sound of my own breathing filled the small, sealed room. Ragged, uneven, utterly ruined.
Vennox lifted his head.
His mouth was glistening, and the expression on his face was one of such raw, reverent hunger. He looked at me like I’d given him something priceless. Like I’d handed him the sun and he was still trying to believe it was real.
“Quin.” His hands were shaking where they rested on my thighs, scales pulsing vivid blue.
I reached for him. My fingers found the clasp at his waist, clumsy and urgent, and then the kilt fell away, and I forgot how to breathe.
He was breathtaking in a way that had nothing to do with beauty and everything to do with dimensions.
Thick and hard and gleaming faintly silver in the dim light.
The sight of him sent a deep, involuntary clench through my core.
His erection jutted out from the apex of powerful thighs, swollen and rigid and flushed dark at the tip, and something about the sheer, straining weight of him sent a deep, involuntary clench through my sex.
I pulled at his shoulders, not hard, just enough to bring his body over mine, enough to feel the heat of him settle against me, his weight braced on his forearms, his chest hovering inches above mine.
The tip of him pressed against my entrance, and my body clenched around nothing, desperate and empty and aching for him to fill me.