King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,68

room – not anywhere inside her – for anything but him.

She reached up to fist his hair, not caring if the wonder and adoration showed naked on her face. Let him see. Let him know how much she wanted this.

His eyes were still screwed shut, lips pulled wide in a grimace. He trembled above her, body vibrating as he held carefully still.

“Beck.” Her own breathing was choppy and open-mouthed, but she managed to trace the tender skin below his eyes with her thumbs. She found a trace of wetness there, and somehow her love swelled greater. “Beck, I don’t want you to stop.” She flexed her thighs on his hips, and tightened around him, where he was buried deep.

His eyes sprang open. His mouth opened on a gasp. His hand slapped down on the rug beside her head, holding him up. “Sweetheart, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

“God.” He groaned, and cursed – and drew his hips back, and thrust in again. Another retreat, another thrust. Again, again. Slow at first, but powerful, the muscles in his stomach rippling, his teeth clenched tight. Each movement stretched her a little more, like he was making a place for himself inside her, and she could feel the way she was fitted to him, and the way he loved it. Each movement lit up nerves she’d never known existed, and the tension wound tighter and tighter, an exquisite torture that had her straining to meet every thrust.

It was good, it was so good, but she knew there could be more, and she chased after it, clutching at his arms, murmuring low, pleading sounds.

His rhythm built, thrusts harder, quicker. He cursed again, and stretched out over her, blanketing her body with his. He found her mouth, a messy, open, uncoordinated kiss as his hips kept kicking.

He had less leverage, this way, but she wanted him close; raked her nails down his back and locked her ankles together behind him. He trailed unsteady kisses down her jaw, and buried his face in her throat.

“Rosie.” His hips stuttered. “My sweet Rosie.” He slipped a hand between them, found her clit with his fingers.

Her pleasure crested in a sudden, violent wave. She closed her eyes and let it carry her, clinging to him.

He growled against her throat, and she felt him kicking inside her, a flood of warmth.

It was the most perfect sensation of her life. Better than a good meal, or a hot bath. Better than laughing with Kay, or earning Beck’s praise at the study table.

Better than killing. The heat of his release inside her, as her body pulsed, limp and liquid with pleasure, was better than the heat of freshly-spilled blood.

In the moment, all of it was tangled, and wonderful, and she didn’t ever want to come down from this high.

Their heartbeats throbbed against one another for a long moment, while her sex continued to spasm around his cock. He lifted his head, and his rough, open-mouthed breathing was tired and spent, rather than tight and anticipatory. He looked at her with dilated, pleasure-drunk eyes, and his smile could have lit up the room, brighter than any lamp. He kissed her with a lazy sort of intensity that felt like a claim; a languid stroke of his tongue, a gentle bite at her lower lip.

When he drew back, he murmured, voice gravelly, “I adore you.”

She was too dazed for eloquence. “That’s good. You’re pretty awesome.”

He laughed – not the low chuckles of everyday, but an honest to goodness giggle; he closed his eyes, and laughter shook him, and he even snorted. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Are you okay?” As the laughter died away, and true concern stole into his voice.

“I’m perfect.”

“Hm. Yes, you are.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He hummed, and kissed her. “It should be.”

~*~

He scooped her up like a bride and carried her upstairs. When she made a reach for their clothes, scattered across the rug like windblown leaves, he hefted her up higher against his shoulder and said, “Nope. It can wait.”

“What’s Kay going to think?”

“She’ll be scandalized, naturally. Or pretend to be.” He caught her gaze and winked. “Don’t let her trick you into thinking she’s a prude. It would all be a lie.”

She smiled, and looped her arms around his neck. She was drowsy, now, her eyelids heavy.

This time, when they lay down on the crisp white sheets of his canopied bed, there was no space between them, her head pillowed on his chest, his arm secure around her