All Things Pretty (Pretty #3)(37)
Author: M. Leighton

I open for him and he dives into a kiss that I feel all the way into my bones. I feel every lick of his tongue like a sweet scrape down my spine, every touch of his fingertips like soothing sandpaper over my soul.

He pulls me inside, flinging the door shut behind us. He wraps his arms around me, lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the bedroom. It’s dark and quiet here, the room filled only with the heat that our fevered bodies are generating and the scorching sensation of our want.

Already, I’m as desperate as I was this afternoon. After just one kiss, I want nothing more than for him to fill me up. Make me his.

Leaving my lips only long enough to pull my shirt over my head, Sig strips me quickly and efficiently of my clothes until I’m held snugly in his arms with nothing but air covering me.

With his one hand fiddling with his zipper, Sig lifts me enough to capture one straining nipple between his lips. And he sucks. Deliciously hard, so much so that I throw my head back and thread my fingers into his hair, holding his sweet cruelty close.

Laving my turgid flesh, he manages to free himself. Incoherent with desire, I wrap my legs around him, so needy that I can’t think past how to get him inside me. I hear the rustle of a wrapper and then, almost savagely, Sig turns, presses my back to the wall and drives his body up into mine.

My lungs freeze and my head bumps back against the cool plaster. I literally can’t breathe for a few seconds. I can only feel. Everywhere, all my nerves are alive with his penetration. He’s so big, he’s buried so deep that my body struggles to accept him just as my mind struggles to process the pleasure-pain of his presence.

Sig goes perfectly still, only the sound of his heavy breathing in my ear for a few seconds. And then I hear a gruff yet tender, “Did I hurt you?”

He begins to ease back out and I exhale, managing a short, “No. Please.”

And that’s all I get out. Sliding his tongue into my open mouth, Sig lowers me slightly, dropping me down as he flexes his hips, plunging even farther into me, stealing my breath once more.

I’m teeming with sensation. My lips, my nipples, my legs, my sex. My skin. My core. I feel Sig all over, like the brilliance of lightning, bottled and transferred to my body through his, jumping excitedly from synapse to synapse. With every movement of his cock within me, sensation explodes outward, like a geyser, raining beautiful, white fire into my blood.

Pressing my back harder into the wall, Sig reaches down, around my legs where they join my body, and places his fingertips on either side of my straining entrance, pulling gently and spreading me further. He swivels his hips and then thrusts sharply up, the friction of the movement against my wide-spread lips stimulating every bundle of nerves in my sex. I come apart. In his hands, against the wall, around his shaft. Like a mushroom cloud, I detonate, out into the stars, and then my world quickly shrinks back to the hot, wet place where we are joined. My world becomes so tightly focused on my climax that I can neither think nor speak.

“God, yes!” he growls through gritted teeth as my body clutches his in my first spasm. I bite my lip to keep from screaming his name. I milk him rhythmically, the fullness of him inside me intensifying each wave. His growl dissolves into a groan and he murmurs into my ear, “That’s what I want. To feel you coming for me. Just me. Just me.”

Like punctuation to each sentence, he strokes me from the inside, slowly, gently, prolonging my ecstasy until my arms fall limply to my sides.

When my limbs begin to regain feeling, shedding the heavy numbness of orgasm, Sig holds me to him and moves me away from the wall. His body is still deeply seated within mine when he kneels on the mattress and tenderly lowers my upper body onto the comforter.

He keeps my legs wrapped around him, my hips off the bed, as he barely flexes into me. My body reacts instantly, shivering around him and eliciting a gasp from my tingling lips.

“Stay with me,” he says softly, reaching out with one hand to stroke from the top of my sex to my chin. As he moves his hand back down, he presses into me, one slow, deep thrust, and I moan, a luxuriant noise that sounds like he’s making me feel.

“Yes, for a while,” I reply, opening my eyes to his.

He’s watching me, his eyes black in the low light.

“Until I’ve had enough of you?”

“Yes, until we’ve had enough.”

He separates from me, his big hands sliding down to cup my butt. He sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed and sweeps his tongue from my entrance to my clit, drawing it sweetly into his mouth for a light suck. “Until we’ve had enough,” he agrees.

With the very tips of his fingers, the kiss of his lips and the softest tickle of his tongue, Sig teases me back to life. The pleasure of my climax shifts and blends to accommodate the rise of something else, something new. He weaves a magical spell over my body, ruthlessly winding me up with a ceaseless onslaught. His pace never quickens, yet never slows; it’s steady and maddening and, within minutes, he has my back arching off the bed and my lips begging for more. For deeper. For harder.

“You taste just like I knew you would. Addictive. Sexy. Sinful,” he murmurs against me, the unshaven scruff around his mouth a bristly, delicious torture. “I could lick you all night long and never get tired.”

Sweep, flick, suck, nibble, he doesn’t stop. All the while, one finger slowly penetrates me in long drags that force my hips to rock against him for more. I wriggle and writhe beneath him, ache turning into throb, throb turning into need. A grunt of frustration escapes my throat and Sig chuckles against me, a low, throaty sound that makes me quiver. “Be patient,” he whispers, brushing his mouth back and forth over me.

I’m panting, my infuriating impatience on the rise. “I need you inside me,” I plead.

“You do?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

“Sig, please!” I’m ready to snap and I know he can hear it in my voice.

“Be patient,” he says again.

He increases the pressure of his mouth, but not his finger. Still, it slips in and out, deep and deliberate. I rock against his face, against his hand, but he pulls back, unwilling to let me rush him, rush this. I grit my teeth and my abdomen trembles and jerks.

It hurts so good– the prolonged yet steady build– that a petulant sob swells behind the wall of my ribs. Unable to think of what I might do to ease it, I fist one hand in Sig’s short hair and I pull. Harder than I might’ve intended to, but enough to ease some of my angst.

Suddenly, Sig releases me. Without warning, he leans up and over my body, looping one arm beneath my knee and rolling my hips back toward me. Then, with one slick, thick thrust, he’s inside me. My startled yelp melts into a loud cry of satisfaction. He pounds me. That’s the best way I can describe it. Harder and harder, deeper and deeper, he plunges his length into me, bringing me back to a pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever known. I squeeze my eyes shut, aware only of the swirl of colors behind my lids as liquid heat pours through my muscles, turning them to quivering masses of release.