Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,125
fingers move to my core. The moment they touch, a naughty smile teases his lips.
“And here I thought I’d have to ready you,” he says, running his finger around my entrance.
Clearly he’s underestimating my own desire.
He moves his hand away, and adjusts himself until I feel his cock right at my entrance.
He stares down at me, and God, he’s utterly magnificent; his glyphs illuminate those wicked lips of his and set his eyes aglow. Several strands of his hair hang down, and if I weren’t so caught up in this moment, I might actually tuck them behind his ears.
But it’s not just his beauty that’s captivated me. He’s not wearing the haughty mask he usually does during the day; he hasn’t been ever since he saved me. He looks just as exposed and vulnerable as I feel.
“Flower …”
He tilts his hips as he gazes down at me, and his cock slowly begins to push in.
I suck in a breath at the sensation of being stretched and filled, and—aww, shit—I think I’m about to have another moment.
My throat tightens, and my eyes prick.
Am I seriously going to cry right when my pussy is getting its first real taste of heaven? Is this who I’ve become?
Famine is looking down at me like I’m some sort of miracle he’s stumbled upon and I have to bite back a sob.
Yep, apparently this is who I’ve become.
My hands move to my face again.
Don’t want him to see me like this.
Famine takes my hands and moves them away from my face.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says. “All I want is to see you right now.”
His words are unbearably kind, which is the last thing my sensitive heart needs right now.
A tear slips out.
He frowns at the sight of it. “Why are you crying?” There’s a note of alarm in his voice. His hips have stilled, and it’s the worst sort of agony.
I close my eyes for a moment. “It’s nothing.”
“Open your eyes.” The alarm is still in the Reaper’s voice.
Reluctantly, I do. Whatever he sees on my face causes his brows to draw together. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Nothing.”
This is unlike any experience I’ve ever had, and already he’s ruined me, completely ruined me, for sex. My career as a prostitute is finished.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
“No.”
He looks unconvinced.
Damnit, I’m going to have to tell him something.
I take a deep breath. “I just … I’ve had so many letdowns in my life, and this … this feels too good to be true. And I feel like you can see everything on my face.” Which is ironic, considering how little light there is in this room.
The Famine I met weeks ago would’ve openly mocked me for this. A part of me is certain he’s going to mock me now.
Only … there’s no judgment in his expression. But his eyes hold a heavy sort of understanding. It makes me think that his own pain runs deep enough to recognize mine.
I see his throat work as he searches my face. “Ana …”
I think he’s about to say something big.
His lips part, but then he shakes his head, and the moment is gone.
Famine leans in and kisses me, and I feel some bittersweet mixture of relief and regret. He isn’t freaked out by my words, but he’s also not about to reassure me that I have nothing to worry about. He’s Famine, he crushes things for fun—humans and their simpering emotions most of all.
The horseman begins to move again, and I focus on that. His cock is still stretching me in the most pleasurable way.
I marvel at him, at this.
His gaze is fixed on me as he thrusts in and out, in and out. The two of us stare at each other with wonder. None of this was supposed to happen.
“I see you,” Famine says. He leans in and kisses one eyelid, then the other. “Only you.”
My breath shudders out of me, and then another stupid, rebellious little tear slips down the side of my face.
Gah, my eyes need to stop this whole crying business.
A moment later, the horseman wipes it away.
I give him a shaky smile, and Famine’s eyes catch on it.
“God have mercy, Ana, I told you no pretty human tricks,” he says, staring at my mouth, his voice hoarse.
Slowly, he resumes his thrusts. Each stroke is deep, yet somehow, he makes the movement seem gentle. It reminds me of the fact that he likes to prolong all sorts of things—hunger, death, and—apparently—sex.