Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,55

her skin that had her nerves prickling, her temperature rising. Fingers and mouth along the curve of her stomach, over her hip bones, drifting down between her thighs, coaxing them apart and settling his shoulders between them.

And then he paused, hot breath on her pussy, hands beneath her ass. “Yes?” he asked, his voice a rasp that made her nipples bead tightly, her toes curl against the mattress.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Thank fuck,” he said, the curse against her labia, vibrating through her, gathering slick heat in her center, taking her dangerously close to an orgasm even before his tongue traced through her folds.

That single slide through her pussy was the best sensation of her life.

One that was quickly eclipsed by the next, and then the next, and then the next, desire pooling, need spiraling higher as he ground his mouth against her and set about wringing every drop of pleasure from her body. Her head fell back, her hips bucked against his lips, moans tumbling from her mouth one after another.

That beard . . .

Fuck, it was everything.

Sensitizing her nerve endings, ramping her pleasure. She gripped his head, held him tight, and just hung on for the ride.

And what an incredible ride it was. She was shooting through the sky like a rocket taking off. Not a gentle slope to that precipice. It was straight the fuck up, and her engines were firing on all fucking cylinders until . . .

Boom.

Explosion.

It began at her clit, his mouth latched tight, his tongue flicking rapidly against the bundle of nerves. Then that wave of pleasure spread like a tsunami, flowing through her folds, clenching tight against the finger he’d pushed deep, was curling up against her g-spot. Every muscle in her body went taut for one brief moment and then lax as bliss flowed through her.

“Fuck,” she whispered, going limp against the mattress. “Fucking hell.”

Ethan prowled up her body, gathered her into his arms, one palm smoothing her hair back. “Fuck, is right,” he murmured, his mouth moving to her ear, nipping lightly at the lobe, his words making her shiver. “Fucking hell, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever been given the privilege to lay eyes on.”

Gravel in his voice, whispering over her skin, fanning the fires between her thighs. She rolled them, pushing him back to the bed, leaning down and slanting her mouth across his.

The sleek dart of his tongue, the soft sting of his teeth against her bottom lip, his kiss was sustenance and torture. Her lungs screamed for oxygen, but she could get enough air by kissing her way across his chest, sucking it in through her nose as she laved the divot of his throat, used her teeth lightly at his nipples. His muscles grew harder with each inch of skin she paid homage to, until he felt as hard as granite beneath her.

She kissed her way down, lower and lower until . . .

“There you are, gorgeous,” she murmured.

His cock was pressed against the front of his boxer briefs, its glistening head just barely poking out the top, and she gave in to the urge to taste that moisture, flicking her tongue out to lap up the salty drop.

The brackish flavor had barely hit her taste buds before she found herself on her back, Ethan on top of her. His color was high, his hair tumbled, his beard slightly askew, but it was the way he was looking at her that had her thighs clenching around his.

Slowly, his hand slid up her side, the rough callouses on his palm making her squirm, especially when he trailed it in, pausing right below her breast.

“Eth,” she murmured, trying to shift so that it would move just a few inches higher.

He smiled, but there wasn’t anything amused about it.

She felt like the seal swimming frantically for shore, a Great White circling beneath, readying to strike.

If his cock brought her as much pleasure as his mouth had earlier, she was in very good hands . . . penises? Teeth? Tongue? Hands again? All of the above. Ha.

That desire tempered, his smile softening. “What?” he murmured, tracing the edge of her mouth with his thumb. She realized her amusement must have bled over into a smirk.

“I was thinking I was in good hands”—her gaze dropped—“or cocks.”

That cock in question twitched against her. “As in plural?”

She swatted at him. “You know what I mean.” Then arched a brow. “Unless you keeping your underwear on means you have something you need to tell me?”

He