Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,18
my comet.
I wake up with a gasp, my skin prickling with awareness. My body is hot, my nipples are hard, and the space between my legs is throbbing. I’m not afraid. I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is real or if my brain is still sleep-induced and imaging brown eyes staring at me.
My body is on fire from a ghost of a man I don’t know. I swear, I feel his intensity surrounding me. I feel watched, but I know that’s impossible. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but I could never forget him.
Running my hand down my chest, my body buzzes with the thought of him watching me. I can feel him here. I must be out of my mind, but it’s okay. It’s only me here, but I wished I weren’t alone. I wish he were here. I don’t understand my reaction to him, but I’m allowed to want someone I’m not allowed to have. It’s natural to dream about a guy that is handsome, dangerous, and forbidden.
Yeah, I’ll keep telling myself that.
I moan when I think about the tattoos surrounding his neck, disappearing down his shirt, and traveling down his arms. I’d like to get a better look at them, up close and personal, just once. One time I want to experience what it’s like to be with a man like Tongue.
Tongue.
What kind of name is that?
I want to know why it exists. Is he good with his mouth? Is that it?
“Oh!” I arch into my hand, circling the bundle of nerves at the thought of his lips between my legs. I bury my hands into his long, shaggy hair, pulling him harder against me for more friction against the scruff on his face. His eyes slide up my body, and the intensity glaring from them match the grip of his fingers along my flesh.
A growl from the corner has my fingers pausing their rapid movements. I sit up, elbows against the bed, my breathing ragged. I search the room, but I can’t see much since it’s dark. I reach toward the nightstand and pat around until I find my glasses. I slide them on, and now the darkness is clear instead of blurry.
“Is someone there?” I ask the shadows like a crazy person. I probably just heard a noise from outside, a dog at the dumpster in the alley.
All it will take is for me to turn on the lamp, but I stop myself from pulling the switch. The promise the darkness holds is better than the truth that waits in the light. Maybe I’m imagining him there in the corner, and it’s only adding to the fantasy; seeing the space empty will only disappoint me.
What the hell is wrong with me? If someone is in my house, I need to snap the hell out of it. I try to summon an inch of panic, but the hairs on the back of my neck aren’t standing up in alarm. I feel safe.
And as long as I have that comfort, I’m not going to ruin the only fantasy I’ve ever had. My hand falls to the top of the nightstand, then rubs down the lip of the top, migrating toward the silver knob. I slowly open the drawer and grab my vibrator, swallowing spit to try to coat the dryness scratching my throat.
Am I really going to do this?
I must’ve had too many glasses of wine before I went to bed.
“If you’re there, you don’t have to say anything or do anything. If you’re not, I guess I’m not losing out, but I hope you are,” I say, hoping I don’t sound ridiculous if I’m speaking to a wall. “I can feel you,” I whisper, spreading my legs wide. “Or I’m losing my mind, but I swear I can.” My room always has an empty feeling to it, but right now, there is this energy I can’t explain. It’s intense and completely overpowers my body.
I don’t feel the urge to run; I only feel the urge to give in.
The devil is knocking on my door, and my sin is turning the knob to allow him in.
I lay back, the memory foam pillow cupping my head gently. I wonder if Tongue has a gentle touch. His appearance is rugged, tough, but I bet there is a side that appreciates a careful caress.
The straps of my nightgown fall down my shoulders, almost exposing my breasts, and I swear I hear an inhale from the corner.