The long length of her dark hair fell over her shoulders, shrouding them in an intimate cocoon as he stared up at her, drawing her to him, his lips parting.
Chocolate and peppermint filled her senses, heated spice and the sweetness of a love that knew more than selfishness, more than greed. A love that had watched, waited, and when the life she had chosen was no longer what she wanted, he was there.
That knowledge seeped into her, not from the man, but from what she was beginning to call the animal that tempered the man.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Because had I known what you were to me, I would have played hell having to wait until you were eighteen. Greedy. Impatient and selfish. I’d have taken everything I could and begged you to like it.”
Their lips came together again, her tongue rubbing against his, the addictive taste of him infusing her senses further until they came up for air.
“You would have run.” She continued the sensual debate in which, as words were spoken, emotions awakened and knowledge whispered into both of them.
“Think?” He nipped at her lips. “I was there the night you turned eighteen, Gypsy. Standing at the back of the crowd, watching, aching for you as you showed off your new leather pants and those sinfully high-heeled boots you wore. And all I could see was the aloneness that surrounded you and how I ached to replace it with a hunger for my touch, my kiss.”
His lips slanted over hers as she gasped in pleasure, in surprise.
His lips stole reason, stole objection if there had been any. As his hands held her to him, one buried in her hair, the other gripping her waist as his tongue pierced her lips, penetrated her mouth and spilled more of the rich taste to her senses. Over and over again, as though he were f**king her mouth . . .
The image of him doing just that dragged a shattered groan from both of them.
She tore her lips from him, raining kisses down the tough line of his jaw, the surprisingly sensitive plane of his chest and along the tight abdomen where the throbbing crest of his c**k waited impatiently.
Oh God, she was hungry for him.
Following his guiding hands in her hair as she moved between his thighs, Gypsy found herself becoming lost in the pleasures and fantasies that filled his mind as she touched him.
When her tongue licked over the blunt head of his c**k and the wild, dark taste of his pr**cum exploded against her taste buds, the fantasy was obliterated, though. Shockingly, gentle hunger, protective greed and an overwhelming need circled her own emotions. As though he were wrapping his senses around hers, ensuring that she never feared allowing them free. He alone knew them. And he would never mistake the vulnerable sexuality she hid inside her soul for weakness.
As though that knowledge were all that was needed to release the hungry woman inside her, Gypsy felt it escape. Everything she had held back over the years, everything she had denied herself.
Her lips parted, her mouth sinking over the head of his erection, feeling it penetrate her lips as they both cried out in pleasure.
His pleasure whipping around her. Hers meeting and merging with it. Like a storm that threatened to never end.
Sucking at the blunt head as it thrust back and forth between her lips, Gypsy gave herself to the flames licking around her, inside her. She tongued the sensitive little spot beneath the head that throbbed a little harder, felt a little hotter. There, where the male mating barb released, locking him into her.
Her pu**y clenched in hunger then, slick heat spilling to the swollen folds and distended bud of her clit as she pressed her thighs tight together and sucked him deeper into the depths of her mouth.
As she held him as deep as possible, her tongue rippling against the sensitive flesh beneath the head now, her lashes drifted open, her gaze meeting his.
“God, that’s good,” he groaned, panted. “Fuck, Gypsy, your mouth is so good. Sucking me so good.”
Strong fingers clenched in her hair again, tugging at the strands as she began moving her mouth over him, meeting each upward thrust of his hips as he f**ked into her mouth.
“Ah, f**k, yeah,” he growled. “Tongue it just like that, baby. Damn, it’s so good. So hot and so good.”
Holding the base of the shaft with one hand, she stroked the rest of it to where her fingers met her lips. Her head bobbed up and down, her tongue licking, stroking, making them both crazy as desires met, married and swirled around them as one incredibly fierce need to please, to pleasure, to explode.
Strong thighs were taut, hard, like silk over iron as they flexed next to her shoulders. Controlled and fierce, her Breed growled, almost purred and cursed as the pleasure heated and the feel of moisture trickling from her vagina to the outer folds pulled a helpless moan from her.
Rising until her lips covered just the sensitive head to where the barb throbbed beneath his flesh, she sucked him tighter. Curling her tongue around it, licking, flicking against the narrow slit where the taste of his pr**cum tempted her, Gypsy teased and tempted the animal growling beneath her.
When he took her—when he came behind her, gripped her hips and surged inside her without pausing—she would be branded by the pleasure-pain of it.
She let the image of it fill her head, the remembered sensations torturing both of them as she felt his c**k tighten, thicken further. He was f**king her lips with hard, short lunges, the head of his c**k filling her mouth, rasping against her tongue as he groaned as though in agony.
“Enough.”
Before she could stop him he had her on her back, his lips moving to her ni**les. If she had thought to torture his c**k head with her mouth, then he did more than think to torture her ni**les with his.