The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,147
down my spine, and he spreads my cheeks as he runs the water along the crack of my ass. Pressure hits the tight ring of muscle, throbbing with the massage setting. A gentle prod in that forbidden place has me scraping my nails over the unyielding tile, and I let out a quiet grunt when he breaches it with his finger, the water acting as a rather poor lubricant, while he inches deeper and deeper. The fullness tightens my stomach, and I curl my hands into fists, panting with the tiny thrusts.
“Every fucking hole belongs to me,” he whispers in my ear, his voice raspy and tight with restraint, and the unwavering possession of his words sends me over the edge.
A long agonizing moan pulls at my core, and I roll my head against the tiles, as the orgasm winds itself up, twisting and tightening. I dig my nails into his thigh, taking in the rough masculine sounds in my ear. Thick muscles tighten around me. His thrusts hasten.
Breaths panting.
Tighter. Faster. Higher, I climb, until it snaps inside of me, and like a ball of confetti, the tingles rush to my limbs. I scream his name, as he continues to bang out his release inside of me.
Stars spark in my eyes, the sensation renders me dizzy, and my knees buckle beneath me.
Strong arms twist me around and lift me up.
He wraps my legs around him, pressing me into the wall for leverage as he cups my face and swallows my gasps for breath. “We’re nowhere near done, ma ‘tit moiselle,” he says raggedly against my lips. “But I’ll let you rest for a bit.”
37
Céleste
Every muscle aches as I lay sprawled across Thierry’s naked body. Sheets damp with sweat and fluids. The heady scent of arousal seasoning the air. For two days straight, we’ve done nothing but eat, sex, shower, sex, sleep, sex, and repeat.
Like animals in heat.
Against the walls, in the bed, the shower, the deck of the boat, and even on the kitchen table right after the pasta meal we left half eaten.
Weak with exhaustion, I stare across the room, toward where I can see a sliver of the moon through the cracked window. Gentle fingertips trace lazy circles into my skin, as he lays with one arm bent behind his head.
Arm stretched across him, I breathe slow and easy. Content. “What does moiselle mean? You’ve said it a few times now.”
“Firefly.”
The answer makes me chuckle. “That’s not a very attractive pet name.”
“When I was a boy, a very young boy, mind you, I thought they actually carried fire inside of them. I used to sit entranced, watching them flicker against the darkness. It made me want to take them apart to see the flames for myself.”
“Please tell me you didn’t tear up a bunch of fireflies.”
Smiling, he keeps on with his soft finger tracing. “No. I don’t think I could’ve dealt with the disappointment of such banal science as bioluminescence.” He chuckles. “But the first time I met you, I was struck by the same curiosity. I wanted to open you up to see what mesmerizing flame burns inside of you.”
Thinking on that for a moment, I stare up at him. “And now that you’ve torn me open, are you disappointed?”
“No. Unfortunately, I’m twice as intrigued.”
“Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because all I think about is how badly I want to stick you into a jar and keep you for myself.”
What twisted delusions spring to life at such a thought. I must be sicker than I imagined if I’m musing over the idea of being his object of obsession. A fascination so profound that he’d sooner shepherd me away to a glass cage than share me with anyone else.
“How do you say mosquito again?” I ask, changing the subject, for fear it’ll shift back to why all of this, he and I, here and now, remains an impossibility.
“Maringouin.”
“And dragonfly?”
“Zirondelle.”
With a frown, I lift my head to see him staring off at something beyond me. “How the hell do you get dragonfly out of that?”
Snorting a laugh, he trails his gaze to mine. “No idea.”
“Chatte, I’ve learned, is pussy. Cat.”
Lips stretching to a grin, he pulls me closer. “Your chatte is sweet.”
Chuckling, I needle his ribs, and lightly bite his chest. “So, what’s beautiful, then?”
Some of the humor in his eyes fades, and he leans forward to kiss me. “You,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. “Je suis fou de toi.”