Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,138
and penises so large they never fully fit all the way inside me, no matter the position. There were dicks that swung to one side and some that grew to twice their normal length; there were some that were bulbous and fleshy and some that were utterly outshined by their owner’s enormous balls. And there was everything in between.
Famine’s cock is, like the rest of him, annoyingly faultless—thick enough and long enough to make a girl feel thoroughly loved, but not overly endowed to make her regret it the next morning. His cock even slopes with just enough arch to hit a woman’s G-spot.
As I stare at him, a grin spreads across my face.
This might be the most blasphemous thing I’ve ever thought, but God clearly made this man for fucking. Sure, killing too, but I’m just saying—this dick has enough bells and whistles to play itself a song.
“That look of yours always makes me nervous,” Famine says, reaching out and pulling me against him. He traces my lips, his pretty cock trapped against my belly.
“Say it again,” I say.
Famine lifts me up once more, forcing my legs to wrap around him again. “That look of yours—”
“Not that,” I laugh. “That you love me.”
The Reaper’s eyes grow heated as he carries me forward. “I love you, Ana.” When I smile he says it again. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Do you want me to keep going? I can do this all—”
“I love you,” I interrupt, placing a hand against his jaw. “And I can’t believe I get to have you, you sadistic little shit.”
As though to emphasize my point, I lean in and kiss him. I think Famine meant to take us back to a bedroom, but only seconds after my mouth meets his, my back bangs against one of the living room walls, the Reaper’s chest pinning me in place.
He stares at me as he lifts my hips, then lowers me down against, him, driving his cock into me.
I hiss out a breath at the sudden intrusion. For a moment, I can’t move, my core throbbing around Famine’s dick.
He shifts, sliding out of me. I make a sad sound, but then he thrusts back in and I let out a long, very unflattering moan.
A wicked grin splits his features and—
“Wait.”
Famine pauses, arching a brow.
I take a shallow breath, trying to think past the big fucking dick that I’m skewered on.
“Just so we’re clear—” I say, “I don’t want a child.” I now know he can work his contraceptive magic to make that happen.
The Reaper gives me an unreadable look.
“You being inside me is sort of contingent upon that.” Probably should’ve discussed this the first time we were intimate. “Understood?”
His hand comes between us and squeezes a tit. “Understood.”
He grinds into me, and that answer is going to have to do because holy shit, this man knows what he’s doing.
He should not be good at this too; this is my profession, not his. Which I know is completely ridiculous because Famine is making me feel fucking amazing and I should not be complaining, but the man with the perfect body and the perfect penis is really good at using both.
He must read my thoughts from my face because he says, “You’ve had all this practice pleasing people and no practice being pleased.”
I give him a look. “There’s no way you’ve ever pleased anyone besides yourself before now.”
He gives me a revealing smile. “Alright, you caught me. But—” He begins to piston in and out, in and out, drinking in my expression with heavily lidded eyes, “am I not a quick study, little flower?”
I don’t bother answering him. Those wicked lips of his have taunted me for weeks and weeks. I wrap an arm around his neck and pull him in close, kissing him as our hips meet again and again.
He pulls us away from the wall and, never fully withdrawing from me, moves us down to the ground.
Famine stares down at me as his thrusts begin to speed up, his hips slamming against mine as his cock drives deeper and deeper. He flashes me a wolfish grin, his caramel-colored hair dangling down.
“What?” I ask.
The horseman shakes his head. “You are so fucking gorgeous, and I like this look on you.”
As he speaks, sensation is building in me, rising and rising.
“What look?” My voice has gone annoyingly low and breathy.
“Tousled hair, swollen lips, and bright eyes,” he says, devouring my expression as his cock continues to stroke