Chapter 12 #2
“Of course. I don’t know if it would make any difference.
My father will decide what he’ll decide.
Our opinions never meant anything to him.
I- I just hate the thought of Gage being hurt because of her lies.
He doesn’t deserve that. I wouldn’t like the idea of it if it was my sister or brother who I thought was innocent. I know you’re brothers by your club.”
Wraith’s throat bobs again. “Yeah,” he grinds out. “You’re very perceptive. You have a good heart.” He studies me again, the flames in his eyes roaring. “How did I get so lucky? Of all the women I was forced into marriage with, I’m glad it was you.”
I’m about to laugh, because I see humor dancing at the edges of his mouth, but he moves fast, a lethal strike, like a snake uncoiling to launch itself at its prey.
His eyes are wild, searching mine right before his hand reaches out and grips my throat.
I freeze, the action so aggressive that it steals my breath.
Wraith’s long, rough fingers work their way to the back of my neck as his other hand grips my hip and carts me up against him.
This time all the breath that I’ve been struggling for rushes out.
His hand tangles in my hair and he uses it like reins to pull my head back.
I stare up into those black velvet depths, burning with the torn up emotion of the morning and something else.
Something feral and dangerous. Something that sends a shiver of wicked heat dancing potently between my legs.
“I have to,” he rasps harshly before he bends his head and his perfect, sensual mouth, claims mine.
His lips are so soft. So much softer than I ever would have believed a man’s could be.
They burn against mine, plunder my mouth with urgency and red hot fury.
His tongue thrusts through the seam of my lips when I try to pant for air.
The sinuous glide undoes the knots in my stomach and ties a thousand more.
My legs turn to water, and I brace myself against his hard chest, his leather jacket like a fiery second skin, alive under my fingertips.
Then, just because I can, because he’s so close, his tongue gliding over mine, his teeth nipping my bottom lip in an agonizing dance of sensual pleasure, I slide my hand up from his chest, up to his sinewy neck.
The corded muscles there strain beneath my fingertips and then I find what I want.
His pulse, hammering hard beneath the satin veneer of his skin.
I love the feel of it, the life pumping through his veins, the wild beat.
It gives me a heady rush of power to realize that I’m doing that to him.
I’m making his heart race the same way he makes mine cant so unevenly against my ribs.
Wraith’s tongue sweeps over my top lip and I forget how to think.
I curl my hand at his neck, digging my nails into the junction between the sinewy column and the broad width of his broad shoulder.
When he bites down into my bottom lip hard enough that copper blooms like a flower unfurling in my mouth, I make a sound that is more animal than human.
Shockingly, Wraith’s big hand travels the length of my body.
It scrapes down from my neck, travels over my breasts, over my stomach and the curl of my hip, down.
He flattens his palm and cups me in the most private place, between my legs.
It doesn’t matter that there’s the thicker barrier of my jeans and my cotton underwear between us, I feel the terrifying power of his palm like I’m completely bare.
“So wet,” he groans against my lips. “You’ve soaked through your jeans.”
My entire body flushes with a different kind of heat. The heat of shame. I drop my eyes, but Wraith’s warm, strong hand sweeps under my chin and tilts it back up. What I see burning in his eyes isn’t disgust. It’s the furthest thing from it.
“You know what I hate?” he asks me in his thick, passion strained tone.
“I hate those jeans. I hate that they cup your pretty, round ass just right. That they’re faded and worn in like a second skin, that I want to peel you out of them and light them on fire too, so that they won’t ever stand between me and what I really want, ever again. ”
I have no idea what I’m doing when my hands fly to the button of my jeans.
I fumble and flick it open and tear the zipper down so fast that the gasp of it opening actually echoes in the room between us.
I’ve never had a man stand this close to me, touch me like this, kiss me until I can’t remember my own name.
I’ve never had anyone look at me that way, like I’m some kind of flawless, valuable treasure.
I want to give him what he wants, this man whose hands touch me with such reverence.
I want him to show me. To teach me. To touch me.
It sends icy tendrils of fear through my bloodstream, to think of doing this, of baring myself to someone for the first time, but, as I peel my jeans down my thighs and I watch the hunger light up Wraith’s face like an animal about to devour his prey, the raw need in me responds greedily.
I want this. I don’t exactly know what it means, but I want it and I want it with him.
I’m nineteen years old. I’m probably the oldest virgin on the planet.
It doesn’t matter that we just met. This man is my husband and he makes me feel.
He makes me feel everything, everything in a life where I’m so used to pushing my emotions back down into the bleeding, aching depths of my heart.
In just a few seconds, he’s succeeded in springing it all free, undoing me completely, shattering those walls and flaying me wide open, and my god, I’ve never felt anything so astoundingly right in my life.
“Wraith,” I pant, and he gets it. His hands take over, furiously stripping my jeans away. He tugs them down to my ankles, then rips off my little black flats to strip them the rest of the way off.
I stare down at his dark head, bent before me, and the muscles in my legs tremble. He looks up and our eyes meet for a second before I glance back down at my white cotton panties. What he said was true. I’m soaked there, so wet that the middle is nearly translucent.
Wraith groans, a terrifying sound ripped from the depths of his throat, and his hands come up to steady me at my hip, the other curling over my panties, his finger tracing over the wet spot.
I’d be completely mortified if I didn’t catch the tension that floods his bent back, the muscles bunching under his jacket.
He touches me with reverence, like I’m fragile and he could break me.
When he hooks his fingers under the waistband of my panties, I don’t push his hands away. I let him peel them down my legs, exposing me completely. A cool rush of air meets my overheated skin, and I let out a shuddering breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Wraith curses irreverently. “You’re so beautiful.”
His hands close around my hips and he lifts me suddenly, violently, thrusting me onto the counter.
My bottom hits the cold, hard granite, but Wraith’s scalding hands are already on me, spreading my legs lewdly.
I want to slam them closed, but his eyes meet mine, smoking black coals burning like obsidian and the raw need for me, for me, banishes any shame and embarrassment and plants a seed of something else.
The air snaps with electricity so hot and violent it makes my breath come in pants.
And then Wraith dips his crown of glorious dark hair between my spread thighs.
I’ve always had thick, dark hair, not just on my head, but everywhere.
Since I was fourteen, I’ve been embarrassed by it, but it was also uncomfortable.
I didn’t like it, and I shaved it off. I’ve never been so thankful, because shaving makes all the nerve endings that much more sensitive, as smooth and slick as my skin.
Wraith grips my thighs with both hands, sinking his fingers into my muscles and my tender skin, and brings his hot mouth to my sex. He doesn’t take his time. He doesn’t tease me or toy with me or lap gently like I thought might happen.
No, he feasts on me.
He uses his entire mouth. His big, broad tongue explores my folds, turning me into a shuddering wreck before he sweeps down low, licking my seam from my clit all the way to my asshole.
I nearly puncture my bottom lip, I sink my teeth down into it so hard.
My body rocks violently, my hips pulsing forward off the counter, shamelessly bucking into Wraith’s face.
He groans and holds my legs down, pinning them to the counter, spreading me open for him.
He licks me slowly, in devastatingly hot strokes that render me incoherent.
My entire body flushes hot, then goes completely cold, then rushes back to overheated.
All I can do is pant through the pleasure.
My fingers tangle in his thick, dark hair and when he tries to slow down, to trail hot kisses over the juncture of my thighs, I rip his face back to me savagely. His breath floods hot over my aching flesh as he worships me.
“Such a beautiful cunt,” he breathes against me, blowing over my tender skin. My hips buck hard and I mewl against the lewd words. “I love your taste. Your scent. I love how you’re dripping all down your thighs and all over my countertop.”
He attacks me with his mouth, licking me with his beautiful, flat, broad tongue, suckling at the hard nub of my clit, nipping my swollen folds gently between his teeth. It’s all the most beautiful agony I’ve ever felt.
My head rolls back and all I can do is grasp his hair, dig my nails into his skull, and let my legs quake around his shoulders and his face.
He takes his time with me, torturing me, dancing away from my clit so that the pleasure I’m chasing is always out of my reach. I buck and moan and squirm shamelessly into his face. I writhe against his tongue.
“I’m gonna make you come now,” he promises thickly, and I want to cry at his words.
I’ve orgasmed before, by my own hand, but I know already that this is going to be nothing like that.
“You’re gonna come hard all over my tongue, coat my chin and lips in your juices, and when you’re done, I’ll kiss you and let you taste how delicious you are. ”
Dirty talk was something I never saw the appeal of either. I once walked past one of my brothers’ rooms when he was watching porn. I could hear the sounds of it drifting from behind the closed door. I failed to see why that would turn anyone on, listening to the scripted filthy words.
This is nothing like that. Wraith’s words strike straight through to the heart of me, right to my throbbing sex.
They light me up like a beacon in the darkness and I let out a wild sounding moan as he attacks me with his mouth again.
This time, instead of dancing over my entrance with his tongue, he spears me with it, fucking up inside of me.
He does it over and over, filling me until I splinter.
The world slips away and the bottom falls out on my reality.
There is nothing but Wraith and his hot mouth on my sex, his tongue inside of me.
I writhe around him, my hips jacking up and into his face, spread my vibrating legs wide, opening myself up to him.
I ride out the waves, sharp and painful at first, then sweeter, the bliss settling around me, drowning me like water.
When I can finally gasp out a breath again, I wrench my eyes open to find Wraith staring up at me. He blinks, those long lashes framing his obsidian eyes so filled with hunger, pleasure, and satisfaction at what he’s just brought me, that it nearly throws me into another climax.
He rises, towering over me. “I want you to taste your sweet cum,” he says in his predatory rough voice that betrays how even though it was me being pleasured, he derived the same amount of satisfaction from commanding my body and wringing my pleasure from it.
His lips close over mine, scalding and brutal. His tongue thrusts through my lips to stroke my own and I feel a slick rush of wetness coat my thighs at the commanding possessiveness of it, at the hot sexual strokes that I feel echoed deep inside of me.
He tastes salty, rich, heady. He tastes like me, like my own musk.
When he pulls back, I moan, wrapping my fingers up in his hair to drag him closer.
My tongue snakes out and I lick my juices from his lips, tilt his face so I can taste it on his chin.
He responds ferociously, licking and nipping at my lips, devouring me with heady groans.
I want to undo his jeans, spring his cock free, get on my knees and taste him like he tasted me. My mouth waters at the thought of having him in my hand, in my mouth, his own salty brine bursting over my tongue, but then a sharp whine startles us both.
Wraith rips his mouth from mine and we break apart, both panting hard.
I slam my legs closed when he steps away. I glance over his shoulder to find Abby there, looking at us with confused, big brown eyes.
“We were gonna take you for a walk,” Wraith laughs, all of the earlier tension of the morning melted away. “I’m sorry, Abbs. We forgot about you.”
Abby whines again and does a little dance with her front paws.
The wheelchair has two huge wheels in the back and a sling like area between them where her back legs get strapped in.
There are two smaller ones that splay out before her front legs to balance everything, and a variety of straps that go around her chest and back to keep her in place.
Despite the fact that my face is on fire, Wraith picks up my discarded clothes, lays them on the counter beside me with the utmost care, then turns and calls for Abby.
She follows him eagerly down the hall, leaving me alone in the kitchen to pick up the shattered pieces of myself, glue my fractured, pleasure soaked brain back together, and figure out what the hell just happened.
I hear the front door creak open and then Wraith’s voice, the undercurrent of humor so very obvious that I nearly smile despite his words. “Don’t worry, Leena. We’ll wait for you.”