Chapter 9 #3
"Don't care about my leg." He positioned himself between my thighs, his massive shoulders forcing them wider. His hands were hot against my skin, almost burning. "Only care about this."
Then his mouth was on me.
I gasped, my back arching off the sleeping bag.
His tongue was hot and wet and absolutely relentless, licking through my folds with a hunger that made my head spin.
He groaned against me, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through my core, and the sensation was so intense I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
"Ripplan... oh god..."
He didn't respond. Didn't slow down. Just kept working me with his mouth, his tongue circling my clit in slow, deliberate strokes that had me trembling.
His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
His fingers dug into my flesh, not painfully, but possessively.
Like he needed to hold onto something real.
I tried to stay quiet. Tried to remember we were in a tent surrounded by ranch hands.
But when he sucked my clit between his lips and flicked his tongue across it, I couldn't stop the moan that tore from my throat.
Thankfully a clap of thunder and the drone of raindrops kept it from traveling further than the tent.
"That's it," he murmured against me, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. "Let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel."
His tongue slid lower, pushing inside me.
I felt him groan again, felt the vibration all the way to my spine.
He fucked me with his tongue, slow, deep thrusts that had me writhing against his mouth.
His nose pressed against my clit with each thrust, adding another layer of sensation that made my vision blur.
"You taste so good," he said, his voice rough with need and something that sounded like wonder. "So fucking good. Like honey. Like everything."
Then he was back on my clit, sucking and licking with a focus that made the world narrow to just this, just him, just the pleasure building in waves.
Each one higher than the last. My hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, holding him against me.
His hair was damp with sweat, his skin burning hot beneath my touch.
He was sick. Feverish. Possibly dying.
And he was worshipping me with his mouth like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
"Don't stop," I gasped. "Please don't stop."
He didn't. He just kept going, kept working me with his mouth and tongue until I was shaking, until I couldn't breathe, until the pleasure crested so high I thought I might break apart.
One of his hands left my thigh, sliding up my body to find my breast. He squeezed, his thumb finding my nipple through my shirt, and the dual sensation, his mouth on me, his hand on me, pushed me over the edge.
When I came, it was like nothing I'd ever felt before.
The orgasm slammed through me, intense, overwhelming, endless.
I cried out, my body arching, my thighs clamping around his head as the pleasure rolled through me again and again.
White light burst behind my eyelids. My entire body went taut, then shattered.
Ripplan didn't stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, drawing out every last tremor until I was boneless and gasping and completely undone. Until I was pulling at his hair, oversensitive and shaking, begging him to stop, to give me a moment to breathe.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, glistening in the dim light. His eyes were still glassy with fever, but there was something else there too. Satisfaction. Possessiveness. Like he'd just claimed something he knew already belonged to him.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
"Fuck!"
I caught him as best I could, easing him onto his back. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. Unconscious.
For a moment, panic seized me. I pressed my fingers to his throat, feeling for his pulse. It was there, still too fast, but steady. Strong.
I sat there for a long moment, my heart still racing, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
My jeans were hanging on by a single ankle.
My shirt was rucked up around my ribs. And I'd just let my patient, my feverish, delirious, snake-bitten patient, go down on me in the middle of a medical crisis.
It was unprofessional. Inappropriate. Completely inexcusable.
And I didn't care.
Because the way he'd touched me, the way he'd looked at me, the way he'd said my name like a prayer, like I was the only thing keeping him alive, was everything I'd wanted.
I pulled my clothes back on with shaking hands and checked his vitals. His pulse was still too fast, but steady. His fever hadn't broken, but it hadn't climbed higher either. The swelling in his leg looked the same, bad, but no worse.
I lay back down beside him, my hand over his heart, and let myself admit the truth I'd been avoiding since the moment I'd met him.
I was falling for Ripplan StoneSteel.