King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,66

her breasts.

“Oh.” She arched up into the touch, delighted by it, nipples aching – but it wasn’t enough. There was still that silk barrier between them. She wanted to feel his calluses here, where she’d never realized she was so sensitive.

He turned his head, and ran his tongue across the top of one breast, looking up at her face through his lashes. She had the impression that it wasn’t a man above her at all, but a big cat, pounced, and purring, and playing with its food.

Then he hooked his thumbs in the cups of her bra and drew them sharply down, a sudden move that freed her breasts with a little bounce. If she craned her neck she could see them – see herself in a light she’d never imagined: all quivering, creamy skin, her nipples flushed and pebbled.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, shifted his head, and lapped at a stiff nipple, drawing a shocked sound from her. Each new touch was a revelation, all of it sending fresh shocks of pleasure to her core, her need building and building like a slow-burning fire.

He closed his lips around the stiff peak, and sucked. His fingers pinched at her other nipple, and it was so much. Too much.

She let her head fall back, and closed her eyes, basking in it.

He drew her deep into his mouth, suckled at her, and then moved to the other and gave it the same treatment. His fingertips traced patterns on the undersides; he molded and shaped them – until she grew restless again, legs shifting against his hips. She was downright squirming – lifting her hips and seeking friction against the hard bulge in the front of his jeans. Her panties were wet now, and even the barest grinding together threatened to set her off, blood sparking and fizzing, and his mouth was so hot, and he was so good at this, and…

He pulled back with an obscene slurp, and, voice rough, said, “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

She did.

He knelt between her spread legs, sheened with sweat, gleaming in the firelight, a classic portrait of a young god made flesh. She loved the way his chest heaved, the way he was winded. The way he stared at her like she was the only thing worth looking at in the world.

As she watched, he unbuckled his belt. Undid the button and fly of his jeans. The rasp of the zipper seemed to echo off the bookshelves. He wore black boxer-briefs beneath, like the ones he’d had on the night he was stabbed. He pushed them down, and drew out his cock; it bobbed, flushed and leaking at the tip, up toward his bellybutton, swollen and flushed with blood. He hissed when he did it, teeth bared.

He stared down at her as he took himself in hand and gave a few slow, thorough strokes. Passed his thumb over the head and spread pre-come down the length of his shaft, easing the way.

He worked his own cock, and skimmed his other hand up her stomach, back to her breasts. Tweaked one nipple and then the other, squeezing ‘til the little bursts of pain sent bright sparks of pleasure through her gut.

There were so many moments in so many books when the heroine finally got a look at the man’s cock and knew a moment’s panic. He was too big; he wouldn’t fit; it would hurt too much.

Beck was big – bigger even than she’d thought, after the stolen glimpse the night of the bath. Thick even in his own hand. But she wasn’t scared. She didn’t want to shrink back from it – from him.

She watched his hand, and wished it was her own; wished it was her grip he was thrusting lightly into.

He took a deep breath and his hips stilled. He circled the base of his cock with his hand and squeezed; grunted, eyes closing a moment. When he opened them, he reached with both hands for the button of her jeans.

She lifted her hands, intending to make fast work of it, and then shimmy out of them, but he said, “Let me.” His voice was wrecked, and his eyes were dark, and when he licked his lips, she nodded and subsided. Watched, enraptured, as he unfastened them slowly, and pulled the halves back, revealing black panties that matched her bra.

He’d been rough when he touched himself, but was gentle, almost teasing, as he slipped two fingertips beneath the waistband of her panties and