Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,55
out of room, her back hitting the wall beside the door to the hall with a soft thunk. A second later, I was on her, plastered to her naked body from thighs to chest. I collared her throat with my hand to feel her pulse against my thumb, to feel the fragility of her life in my hands. Her pulse beat a tattoo into my skin, a pattern I would wear inside my chest the way some people wore a religious cross.
This, this, this was why my own heart beat.
“You’re wet,” she panted softly, looking up at me with those big, silvered blue eyes fringed in thick gold lashes.
“You are too,” I noted, no inflection just fact. “I’ve made you wet for me, Little Shadow. You love to mimic everything I do, is this no different?”
She gasped as my other hand scraped along her right side, short nails pebbling the flesh in their wake, until I reached her hip. I watched her eyes dilate as I paused, then jerked them harder, searing pain into her skin, across the seam where her leg met her groin straight to the top of her pussy, soft with downy curls.
My fingers played there as I spoke against her parted lips. “Should I check to see if I’m right?”
She trembled against me, so warm and vivid against my cold, dark body. I had her trapped and ferocious animal triumph urged me to fuck her as the spoils.
I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
I was above base impulses, smarter than my body’s urges.
Almost.
My middle finger dipped down just slightly over the sweet swollen mound of her clit into the tight slit beneath it and then pulled back. It came away wet with her juice.
I grinned, the expression a knife’s slash across my mouth as I pulled my hand away to bring the evidence between us.
“Wet for me,” I said as my cock throbbed and throbbed, and still I didn’t grind it against her.
“I’m, um,” Bea gasped, flustered and flushed pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” I clipped, scowling. “I want you wet. I want you dripping down your thighs for me. This?” I held up the honey-dipped finger to my mouth and slowly ran my tongue up my skin, sucking over her juices with a humming groan of approval. “Fucking divine.”
She squirmed, thighs trying to rub together. I slotted my leg between them so she was forced up against my jean-clad thigh, damp cunt to the rough fabric. I ground against her until she whimpered then I took her panting mouth, devouring it the way I wanted to devour her sweet pussy.
“I’m gonna take you,” I growled against her mouth. “Last chance to stop this.”
“No,” Bea groaned against me, moving by her own volition against my leg, gyrating her little hips in a desperate bid for more leverage. “I want this. You. Please, I’ve wanted you since I knew what want was.”
Fuck, but the power of those words scored through me. The worship in them, the reverence. All those holy words I’d banished from my vocabulary came surging back with the taste of Bea’s cunt like holy water on my tongue.
“We do this, you’re mine,” I swore to her in a rough voice torn from my gut. The words pained me as they erupted, but I wanted the pain because with Bea, I knew it would only bring pleasure.
“Yours,” she swore, head tipped back so I could bite my way down her neck. “I already was.”
“No,” I disagreed as my mouth finally found a peaked nipple and my teeth gave in to the ache to bite down on it. She moaned loudly, head hitting the wall with a dull thud as she arched into my mouth. “If I make you mine, you stay mine until death comes for us. You’re mine in the night and the shadows where I’m fucking king. You’re mine in the light with your family and friends, standing beside Death as his queen. If I’m a killer, you’re a killer. Where I end, you fucking begin.”
“Yin and yang,” she rasped as I switched to the other breast, biting and sucking hard around the pale swell until it bloomed pink as an unfurled rose. “Persephone and Hades,” she said, voice dropping into low, velvet intimacy as she clutched my hair so I looked up at her through her breasts. “Bea and Priest.”
“I’ll ruin you,” I promised baldly, excitement in my balls, in my chest, a percussion beat like ceremonial drums.