Page 111 of Twisted Enemy
“I didn’t?—”
His thumb falls heavy on my lip. Without thinking, I purse my mouth and suck him in.
“You will, my dear,” he says with a low chuckle. “Oh, you will.”
When I open my mouth to protest, he slips his thumb free. He uses my arousal to finger-paint my belly. He traces around my nipples, pinching them to attention and then he sucks away the evidence, pulling long and hard.
I groan in frustration as his lips move down my belly. His hands frame my ribs as if he’s measuring me for a corset. He nuzzles my landing strip, rubbing his cheeks against the bareflesh on either side, stinging with the stubble of a full day’s growth of beard.
He licks my clit with the flat of his tongue. “Yes,” I murmur, my wrists straining against their bonds. I want to grab hold of him. I want to feel his hair between my fingers. I want to keep him there.
His arms curl beneath my thighs, tilting me to the position he desires. His shoulders hold me open. Lowering his head, he takes one long taste from the pucker of my arse all the way to my clit. I scream as he nips me.
“Oh, Kate,” he sighs, his cheek against my thigh.
I wriggle then, trying to make him lick me again, but he has another plan. This time, he starts at my knee. He hardens his tongue, using the hot tip to trace each rung of the ladder I’ve carved into my flesh. He tastes every one of my scars, pulling at them with his lips, scraping them with his teeth.
This attention is more intimate than anything we’ve done before. It’s more invasive than when he filled me with his fist. He’s seeing more of me, reaching deeper inside me, even though his mouth never leaves my thigh. When he finishes on one side, he shifts to the other, consuming every wound I’ve ever inflicted on myself.
“My Kate,” he says when he’s back to the needy space between my thighs. “Sweet, sweet Kate.”
And he devours me.
He sucks on my clit. He tongues my fluttering folds. He fucks me with his mouth, triggering every individual nerve inside me.
I strain against my bonds. I need to close my knees, need to hold his head there, need to keep him close because I’m so tight, so ready, so, so, so…
When he pulls away, I scream in frustration. “You miserable shitehawk bastard!”
He laughs, dragging the back of his hand across his soaked chin. “Two,” he says.
I writhe as he returns his attention to my scarred legs, measuring each individual rung with his index finger. I don’t want him touching me there. I want him finishing the job he started.
But his steady, quiet stroking calms my heartbeat. His touch brings my frantic breathing back to normal.
“I hate you,” I finally say.
“Of course you do.” He smiles as he says it.
I can’t help myself. I smile too. But I turn my head away so he can’t see.
He pulls himself up to lie beside me, propping himself on one arm and resting his head on his palm. With the other hand, he traces the length of my body.
He samples my ready pussy, dabbling against my clit. He traces my jutting hip bones, curving up my flanks. He draws my ribs, taking his time, making me arch off the damp mattress.
He uses the V between his finger and thumb to frame the underside of my breast. The weight of his hand at the top of my ribs is shockingly possessive. Heownsme.
As if to prove the point, he lowers his mouth to the pulse point in my jaw. At first, he kisses me, just his lips, warm and hard. Then he sucks, staking a claim, demanding enough that I know he’s left a mark.
Then he savages me with his tongue.
There’s no way on earth that something so simple should feel so good. This isn’t my clit, with its direct wiring to the detonation center in my brain. He isn’t pulling on my hard, aching nipples. He isn’t biting, isn’t sucking, he’s just driving me wild, as if his tongue can drill straight through to the beating chambers of my heart.
I laugh like I’m being tickled. The sensation is utterly overwhelming, as if I’m simultaneously cresting a mountaintop and drowning in the sea. I need him to stop, and I need him to keep doing this forever.
The hand that was cupping my breast moves lower. He spreads his fingers across my belly, wide and flat. This is a way of claiming me too. He pulls just a little, tightening the skin across my mound, and suddenly I’m one lash of his tongue away from coming.
I’m ready. I’m desperate. I’m waiting.
