On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(21)
Author: Gena Showalter

"Spread your legs," he commanded harshly.

She trembled. "What’s wrong with—"

"Talk after. Spread."

Seriously. What had come over him? she wondered, even as she obeyed. As she’d already learned, sometimes doing what he wanted paid off.

He sucked in a breath. "You’re wet."

For you. "Always."

His lips pulled tight as he reached out and ran a finger through her tiny patch of curls, then through her lips, then against her clitoris. "You’re mine."

Her back arched, and she had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing his wrist and holding his hand in place. "Y-yes." She couldn’t deny it.

He severed the contact, and she moaned. But then he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked, his lids dipping to half-mast. "You’re not going to leave this time." A brutal command. "Not until we’re both sated."

"I’ll stay."

As if the admission broke him down into nothing but sensation, he ripped at his pants, kicked off his boots. When he was finally naked—gloriously, wonderfully naked—he pounced, diving on top of her. His weight crushed her, but she didn’t care. They were skin to heated skin at last, his long, thick erection rubbing against her core.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, as demanding as his tone had been. Savage, showing no mercy, dominating. She loved it, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking and giving. One of his hands squeezed at her breast, his naughty fingers tweaking her nipple and shooting sharp lances of pleasure through her.

She bent her knees, rubbing them against his hips, offering a deeper cradle for his penis. He didn’t take the hint. Rather than push inside her—even the thought made her moan—he inched down her body and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He played for a little while, teeth nipping, hands lowering, exploring, tracing over her core, but never actually touching. Mostly, he dabbled behind her knees, at her ankles, the curve of her ass after flipping her over.

"Vasili," she moaned. The ache was consuming her, that ever-present ache. She was leaning into his every glide, trying to force him to head in the direction she wanted.

He flipped her again and kissed a path to her stomach, tongue swirling in her navel. Her muscles quivered. He followed that quiver with his tongue, licking straight into her core. Finally, blessedly. A moan tore from her.

The other day, she’d come and he hadn’t. She should be going down on him. "M-my turn to do that to you," she rasped. But don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

He didn’t pause, just kept lapping at her, sucking on her clit, making her writhe and pant and pull at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, spinning her mind, flashing white lights.

As she cried his name, he flipped them both over, and she found herself on top of him. His features were tight with tension. Seeing him like that, so aroused for her, had the ache roaring back to life as if she’d never climaxed.

"Stroke me."

She rose up and straddled his thighs. His erection strained proudly between them, and she wrapped her fingers around the thick base, gliding upward, engulfing the head and dampening her palm with the moisture beaded at the tip. "Like this?"

His hips arched into her touch. "That’s good, but I want—"

She didn’t let him finish. She bent down and sucked him into her mouth, until he hit the back of her throat. He bucked, a hoarse groan leaving him. God, he tasted good. A sweetness that could only be passion. Her jaw stretched and burned to accommodate his width as she rode him up and down.

He fisted her hair for a moment, then released her, as if afraid to hurt her. She heard flesh slap against metal and assumed he was now gripping the headboard. She didn’t stop to look, just kept eating that hard length, consuming it.

"Going to . . . if you don’t want . . ."

Faster . . . faster . . .

"Rose!" He roared her name as his seed jetted into her mouth.

She swallowed every drop. And when he calmed, she lifted her head with a satisfied smile and a lick of her lips. The ache hadn’t left her, had only increased. She wanted more, needed more. He would, too. She knew it.

He was panting, gripping the headboard as she’d supposed, his lips bleeding from chewing them. Her gaze moved to his arms, to the muscles straining there, and she gasped. There, on both of his forearms, were roses. Roses, like her name. Once again her chest constricted. He’d marked himself permanently, inked those symbols on his body for all of his days. For her . . . She knew they were for her.

"Lift up," he suddenly growled.

"Am I too heavy?" She climbed to her knees.

"Hardly." Immediately he inserted two fingers inside her.

Her head fell back, hair tickling her skin, br**sts arching toward him. She cupped them, moaning and pumping against his fingers. Fucking them the way she wanted him to f**k her.

"My Rose is still wet."

"I liked the taste of you." Up, down. More, more. She knew there was something they should discuss, something all lovers should discuss . . . oh, yes. "I’m on the pill, can’t get pregnant, not diseased." There. "Vasili, please. Unless . . . unless you need time to recover."

"I’m not diseased, either." His fingers pulled from her. He gripped her hips, lifted her, and slammed her down, his c**k suddenly filling her, stretching her. She had to brace her hands on his chest to hold herself upright. But finally, he was inside her, all the way, hers.

"Yes!" she screamed.

Air hissed from his teeth. "Move on me."

"Yes, yes." At first, she moved slowly, torturing them both, driving them to insanity. As he began to thrust up, meeting her downward glide, his fingers digging into her waist, bruising, spurring her on, she increased her speed, taking more, giving more, demanding more. Soon they were both writhing, both reaching, hands everywhere.

"Kiss." He cupped the base of her neck and jerked her down, tongue stabbing into her mouth.

She came instantly, inner walls clenching around him. That was when he flipped her to her back, thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper, one of her knees caught under his arm, allowing even deeper penetration, his c**k like a jackhammer against her clit, and then he was shouting her name, spending himself inside her, and she was shouting his, clamping around him yet again.

When he collapsed on top of her and rolled them to their sides, she was still twitching from that second—third?—consuming orgasm. He didn’t release her, but held her tight. Thank God. She couldn’t have existed on her own, she didn’t think. She was panting, sweating, floating. Lost.