No preamble. Thank the Virgin Scribe. He went right in, worshipping her core with his mouth, sucking in her sex and licking deeply into her core. She came again immediately, shouting his name, fisting the quilt beneath her, contorting her body from the pleasure. And as she writhed against his face, he took everything she had to give, the slick feel of his tongue, his hot breath, his relentless attention, rocking her world.
Closing her eyes, Helania panted and groaned. Then she had to open her lids and watch him again.
As if he knew she was looking at him with wonder and heat, he deliberately licked up the center of her as he held her stare, his pink tongue and bright white descended fangs the kind of thing she was never going to forget.
But what about him? He needed—
All thought left her mind as another release rocketed through her, her undulating pelvis creating friction against his mouth, and magnifying everything.
Boone might not have been into teasing, but he sure took his time with it all. He seemed content to spend what was left of the night and all of the coming day right where he was, the purring sound he was making deep in his throat suggesting he was enjoying this as much as she was.
But eventually he straightened, his hands going to his fly.
“Oh, God . . . yes . . .” she said. And she would have sat up to help him, but she was utterly boneless, her body at once totally satiated and ready for more.
The next thing she felt was his hard, hot length penetrating her. And there was nothing else she needed in order to go over the edge again. Even as he started moving, she was already there: The sensations plowed through her and then were cranked up even higher as he began to pump—and she got a hell of a show as he swept his sweater and shirt up over his head, his chest and heavy arms on display as the last of his clothes disappeared.
Now he was holding her by the hips again, pulling her into him, pushing her away in a rhythm to his thrusts. The pounding increased until her breasts were jerking back and forth, their ultrasensitive tips carrying echoes of the sex they were having sure as if he were touching her all over through that connection down below.
Boone’s eyes were on fire, and his fangs flashed as he suddenly reared back and locked into her. The force of his orgasm was so great, the cords of muscles that ran up his shoulders into his neck stood out in stark relief, the thick veins popping, the power in his body activated in service to her.
Boone was utterly magnificent.
And he did not stop filling her up.
For a very, very long time.
“I have to say,” Helania murmured, “that the night ended even better than I imagined it would.”
As Boone’s female cuddled in closer to him, he smiled. They were lying naked on her little bed, her sprawled over his chest, their bodies throwing off so much heat that covers were unthinkable—in spite of the fact that they had finally collapsed from the sex well over an hour ago.
The scent of dark spices was thick in the air, and he wondered if she’d noticed.
Male bonding was not a subtle thing. Yet he was aware that there were a lot of things unsaid between them—nothing bad; on the contrary, just stuff that seemed too good to be true.
“You know,” he murmured, “I have to agree with you. There were many finishes on both sides . . .”
They had made love for God only knew how long, and talk about hot and heavy. For some reason—maybe it was the stress they had been under and the release of all that pent-up energy—the session had been a marathon one. To the point where he was worried he’d chafed her.
And then there was another issue. Cleanup.
“Should we . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve made a mess all over you.”
Helania’s low, sexy chuckle made him feel like he was Male of the Year. “It’s not a mess. And most of it is inside me—where it can stay.”
He smiled so broadly that his cheeks hurt. “You are amazing. I know . . . I know that sounds like a line, but it’s not. You bring me to my knees and lift me up at the same time. It’s the definition of magic.”