Unshackle (Deliver #7) - Pam Godwin Page 0,50

and wrestled his pants to his thighs. It felt so goddamn significant he was shaking. Not noticeably, but she felt it. With her hand on his bare hip and his cock jutting toward her mouth, she raised her eyes to his.

Compassion. It glowed in her gaze and socked him straight in the chest. This woman… She was the living reality of the only dream he’d ever dared to want for himself, the most precious, indestructible, viciously beautiful creature in and out of any fantasy.

She was an impossible possibility in the flesh.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He wanted to give her so much more than trite words. But not here. With the cartel watching, he could only be John Smith. “Suck me.”

“Don’t coach me, asshat.”

“Don’t test my patience, sugar.”

A glimmer lit her eyes. Her jaw opened slightly. Slowly, her head lowered, and he watched, breathless and overtaken, as this fierce woman lay her claim on his cock.

Soft lips. Hot tongue. Oh, God. Oh, sweet holy fuck. She sucked him straight to the back of her throat.

His toes curled, and his hips shot off the couch, thrusting, plunging, digging deep, so fucking deep before he caught himself and pulled back.

Down boy.

He wasn’t going to last. No way in hell. She felt too fucking unreal.

“Unbelievable.” A string of Spanish spewed past Marco’s lips.

That was the last distraction Luke registered before everything faded. The room, their audience, nothing existed but the overwhelming stimulation of her mouth moving on his cock.

Her tongue traced veins and ridges. Her hands explored, caressing his abdomen, hips, thighs. By the time she reached his balls, he was panting, grunting, fighting the demands of an impending release.

Christ, he was going to come. Or black out. Fuck, he would die from the pure agony of it.

Not yet. Holy fucking hell, not yet.

He didn’t want it to end. But her mouth was relentless, sucking the sensitive glans beneath his head, tasting the endless flow of pre-come, swallowing him deeply, and coaxing him to shoot his load.

With throaty groans, he couldn’t stop the movement of his hips. His hands flew to her head, and he crushed her face to his groin, rocking, stabbing, cutting her air. He had to have her, kiss her, fuck her, and touch her everywhere. God almighty, he’d never needed anything or anyone like he needed this. Her.

Mindlessly, he fucked her throat, and she took every inch, gripping his thighs, gagging, choking, and sucking even harder.

Let her breathe, idiot.

Releasing her, he reached beneath her dress, between her legs. His fingers found her panties, ripped them away, and sought her wet center. Soaking. So silky and warm. Her arousal gushed over his knuckles, and her pussy sucked his probing touch into its hot, welcoming recesses.

She writhed, gyrating her hips and moaning around his cock. He thrust a finger into her again, added two, three, rimming her opening and massaging the sensitive muscle inside. She cried out, grinding against his hand, her breaths faltering, eyes squeezing shut as she rode the pleasure like a hellion.

Dragging her tongue along his length, she flicked and teased without mercy. His head spun at the unpredictable rhythm, his body hard, every muscle flexed, his entire world caught in her spell.

Over and over, she sucked the tip into the back of her throat, closing her lips around him, sealing him in delicious warmth. It took every ounce of concentration to remember the fingers he still held inside her. What a distracting little succubus.

Two could play at this game.

He moved his hand between her legs, seeking her clit with his thumb, rolling it, adding pressure until she cried out and pulled her mouth off his cock.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now.” She flashed her teeth, gripped his hip and thigh, and sucked him hard and deep into her throat.

His vision blurred. The world spun, and he shut his eyes against the onslaught.

“Jesus. Goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He flung out his free hand and gripped the back of the couch, desperately anchoring himself in some semblance of control.

She was ready to come, dripping all over his fingers. If he didn’t send her over now, she would win. She’d milk him for all he was worth before he had a chance to have her here, on the couch, wild and rabid and absolute.

Circling his thumb around her clit, he fingered her sheath with hard strokes, harder, until he thought she would tumble into his lap. Trembling on the cusp of ecstasy, she fought it valiantly. And lost.

The hot clasp of her