Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,78

tenderness.

“Where?” His voice was low and demanding. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

Everywhere. But he wasn’t an octopus. So she started with something she’d been dreaming about for months. “My b-breasts,” she managed, her breath catching when a low grumble vibrated at the back of his throat.

And then his hand inched beneath the hem of her T-shirt, his palm skating up her stomach, over her ribs. Higher. Higher. Ever higher. The calluses on his palm were wonderfully abrasive, adding one more delightful sensation to the already heady mix.

Part of her wanted to tell him, Hurry the hell up! Her nipples were so hard they hurt. Her breasts were heavy and aching for his caresses. But another part of her reveled in the exquisite torture. In the exquisite waiting and wanting and anticipation of—

“Good Lord,” she groaned when he cupped her right breast, plumping it high, his thumb rasping over the distended tip and creating a delicious friction even through the satin of her bra.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he said, reclaiming her mouth. His lips were swollen yet firm. His tongue bold and unapologetic.

“More,” she begged him, her hips moving of their own accord, thrusting over his thigh, seeking more friction. Faster. Harder. Her heart pounded. Her blood roared. She was a thing now. A being entirely comprised of want. Of need. Of hunger.

“I’ll give you more,” he promised. “I’ll give you everything.”

That’s exactly what she wanted. All of this. All of him.

Bran tugged her T-shirt top over her head. With a flick of his fingers, he unsnapped the front closure on her bra. “Damn,” he cursed.

“What?” she panted, barely able to think the words, much less form them. “What is it?”

“I wish it weren’t so dark,” he said as he cupped her breasts in his hot, callused palms. His thumbs reverently brushed over the painfully erect tips, and she hissed her pain. Her pleasure. “I wanna see you. I’ve dreamed of seeing you for so long.”

He caught her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and softly plucked. He should’ve been a musician, a surgeon, something that would make use of his crazy talented hands. The pleasure twanging in her breasts made her hips work faster over his thigh. The delectable friction was building to a fever pitch. Soon. Soon it would be enough.

“Describe them to me,” he rasped, alternately feathering his fingers over the hard points and gently pinching them. She was bombarded by sensation, by ever-burgeoning bliss. Close. So close. “Are they brown like berries? Red like cherries?” His voice was thick with passion.

“Pink,” she managed, though she hadn’t the first clue how her vocal cords were still working. “Light pink. Like cotton candy.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against her lips. “I bet they taste as sweet.”

And then he dipped his head to catch one taut peak between his warm lips. She moaned and speared her hands into his hair, pulling him closer, catching her lip between her teeth when his hot tongue rasped over her nipple.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “Just as I suspected.”

Maddy couldn’t respond. Her orgasm was barreling toward her at full speed now, sending pulses of pleasure down her spine, into her breasts, and through her womb.

Bran must have sensed how close she was. “Wait, Maddy. Shit. I wanna—”

“No!” she whispered deliriously when suddenly he was…gone. His lips left her breast with a suctioned pop. His thigh and the wonderful friction it provided vanished from between her legs. “Bran! Please!” She blindly reached for him, her searching fingers finding the impenetrable wall of his chest. The crinkly hair there tickled her palms. She felt her way up to his shoulders, digging her fingers into his muscles, desperate to pull him back to her.

“Shhh, Maddy,” he said, allowing her to draw him close. “I’m gonna get you there. But I wanna feel you come the first time. Please, Maddy. Let me feel you.”

“Hurry, Bran,” she begged.

She thought she heard him chuckle. Thought she heard him call her an impatient little minx but she couldn’t be sure. Her blood was pounding in her ears and every ounce of her attention was focused on the hand Bran snaked between their bodies. He popped the button on her shorts. Her zipper made a subtle scrrrrritching sound when he tugged it down.

“Yes,” she whispered when his long, thick fingers speared down the front of her panties. He parted her swollen folds.

“Fungule,” he moaned. “You’re so damned wet.”

“As requested,” she said, delighted to hear him growl before he reclaimed her lips, using his