Chapter 18 - Mara #2
He doesn’t rush. He kneels on the edge of the bed and slides his hands up my legs, thumbs stroking the insides of my thighs, not even bothering with the pretense of being casual.
He wants me, and it’s written all over him, from the way his eyes track every inch of skin where the shirt rides up to the way his hands flex as he reaches for my hips.
He tugs me closer, and the shirt bunches up around my waist, exposing the healing bruises on my skin from where the hunter dragged me out.
When Cade sees them, his jaw tightens, and his eyes flash gold.
He leans in, mouth at my collarbone, his breath hot against my neck, and when he touches the fresh scar there, he kisses it, slow and reverent, then looks up at me, and in his eyes, I see everything he can’t say… fear, relief, possession and desire.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice so rough it barely sounds human.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and wrap my hands in his hair, pulling him closer.
He slides my shirt up and over my head, tossing it to the floor, then runs his palms up my sides, mapping every inch of me, slow and deliberate.
His hands are so big they span my waist easily, and when he cups my breasts, the calluses on his thumbs scrape my nipples and make me arch hard off the bed.
He grins, wolfish, then ducks his head and bites gently at the curve of my breast, sucking until the heat in my stomach turns molten.
His hand slides down my body, and when he slips inside, I moan, shameless and loud.
I’m already wet, slick and ready, but he takes his time, working me open with slow, careful circles until I’m panting, begging, clawing at his shoulders.
He doesn’t let up. He slides down the bed, mouth trailing kisses along my belly, then dips lower between my legs.
He hooks my knees over his shoulders and drags me down until my ass is balanced at the edge of the mattress, legs spread, and my whole body is open to him.
The first flick of his tongue is so slow, so careful that I almost miss it, but then he licks again, broad and hot, and this time I can’t stop from moaning his name.
He doesn’t tease, doesn’t hold back, just lavishes me with attention until I’m shaking, hips bucking so hard I nearly come off the bed.
He’s got me pinned, his hands wrapped around my thighs to hold me still while he devours me.
He’s relentless, his tongue moving in tight, merciless circles around my clit, then dipping inside me, then back up, fucking me with his mouth and moaning into my skin.
The vibration runs straight through my bones, and I can feel myself getting wetter, soaking his face, my own voice echoing off the walls.
Every time I think I can’t take more, he redoubles his efforts, sucking my clit until my whole body tenses.
I come hard, and it’s so intense I see stars.
I barely even notice his hand moving up between my legs, fingers sliding inside me knuckle-deep, stretching me open while his tongue keeps working me over.
He slides two fingers in, then three, and I arch up, helpless under the steady, overwhelming pressure.
I’m already trembling, but he doesn’t stop, just watches my face as he scissors his fingers, opening me wider, and fuck, I can’t believe how good it feels, the perfect sting of too much and not enough.
He shoves in a fourth finger, and I cry out, half in shock and half in need.
I’ve never taken that many, never even thought about it, but my body is hungry for it.
I watch him, the look on his face, and it’s pure reverence.
He adds his thumb at the base, grinding into my clit at the same time, and the pressure is so intense I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but clutch at his wrist and ride the next wave.
When he pushes in the fifth digit, I gasp, my body stretching around him, and then I feel my whole center seize, the orgasm tearing through me so violently I scream.
He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t ease off; he just keeps going, wrist deep, fucking me slow and intense with his hand, his mouth latched onto my clit.
I come again, and this time I lose control completely. My body convulses, and I feel a sudden, hot gush, the unmistakable wet explosion of squirting all over his hand and the sheets beneath me.
“You’re so incredible,” he breathes, his hand slipping free as he pulls his cock out.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabs me by the hips and yanks me to the edge of the bed, so hard my shoulders almost leave the mattress.
There’s nothing gentle now, nothing slow; his cock is heavy and flushed, already slick with precome, and when he lines up, the head drags hot and thick along my slit, making me whimper.
“You ready for me?” he asks, but there’s no question in it.
Just the knowledge that he could ruin me and I’d beg for more.
“Yes, please, Cade, fuck—”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He thrusts all the way in, one long, merciless drive.
It’s almost too much: the stretch, the fullness, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm.
But he doesn’t let up. He sets a brutal pace immediately, hips slamming into me, the sound obscene, skin to skin so loud it echoes off the walls.
He braces my thighs wide, forcing my knees almost to my chest, his eyes locked on mine, gold burning through the blue, and every time I clench around him, he groans, deep and guttural, a warning that he’s close but not letting go.
Not until I do. He leans over me, palms on either side of my head, so big he blots out everything else.
He thrusts harder, deeper, grinding his pelvis against my clit in a way that makes me sob, desperate for more even though I feel like I might break apart.
He kisses me, biting at my lower lip, devouring every sound I make, and when I come again, it’s not gentle.
The orgasm rips through me, raw and violent, my nails raking down his back, my whole body seizing as I clamp down around him.
He growls and pulls out, flips me over like I weigh nothing, and then he’s driving into me from behind, fists on my hips.
I can barely breathe, can barely think, and the only thing that matters is the relentless, punishing force of him inside me.
He wraps a hand in my hair and yanks my head back, the pain sharp and sweet, and bites down on my shoulder, right where my neck meets the curve of my body.
I cry out, knowing that he’s marking me as his, and he fucks me harder.
I can feel him getting close, the way his grip tightens, the way his breath goes ragged.
“Come for me again,” he snarls, and I do, my channel spasming around him, as he finally tenses, spilling inside me.
He holds me there, flush against him as I feel the aftershocks. This wasn’t just sex; this was a bond cementing between us, and part of me thinks I should feel shocked, but all I feel is peace.