Page 47 of Down to One
Mine
Blaze
I silently thank Zedd for interrupting. I was a hair’s breadth away from declaring my love for him. That would have been a costly mistake—deadly. Neither of us can afford to admit such a thing. One of us might need to kill the other, and whisperingthatsweet nothing will make living unbearable for the one who survives.
He sets me down and holds my gaze as he pulls my shirt off, then the purple scrap of my bra. His blue eyes widen, his lips tighten as he memorizes the shape of my breasts. My nipples peak expectantly in the cool night air.
Lifting me again, he licks them with the tip of his tongue. His tongue doesn’t make the movements. Instead, his head shifts right to left and right again, reminding me of a predator shaking his prey. The pure animalistic gusto with which he attacks me amps up my arousal.
He steps one foot between mine, leaving no space between us. This also reminds me of an animal. There’s nothing civilized about his body language. It speaks volumes as to his command over me.
He jacks back far enough to slip his hand between us, then slides his palm beneath my pants and panties until he’s cupping my sex.
“Mine,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine.
My answer? I widen my stance, keeping our gazes bound with a challenging stare.
“This is mine,” his warm palm isn’t intrusive. It’s motionless. His inaction does the opposite of what I would think. Instead of lulling me into calm, it incites me. I mentally will it to move as we have a long, wordless conversation with our eyes.
When one finger moves, maybe half an inch, maybe less, I suck in a breath as I close my eyes. I wonder if I could come if he moves it the slightest bit to the right. He remains immobile, waiting, I think, for me to open my eyes.
When I do, that finger, now the center of my universe, slides imperceptibly to my right until it slips between my folds. My mouth drops open as I wait with such desperate desire I hallucinate that he’s moving it against me, along my folds, into my slick channel.
But he’s not. He’s just watching my response to him. Knowing that his tiniest movements set off shockwaves that pulse to my depths.
The corners of his mouth turn up subtly. He’s on top of the world, watching my every stuttering breath and every infinitesimal micromovement of my mouth. It’s clear just what effect he has on me and how my pleasure kindles his own.
Finally, that finger slides inside me, not even a full inch. Just enough to claim possession. I bite my bottom lip to cheat the viewers out of hearing me say, “Fuck,” on a long sigh. Instead, I just stay tethered to his gaze, waiting to see what that wonderful, masterful finger is going to do next.
“Mine,” he says more quietly than he did a moment ago. It’s as if the more he possesses me, the less forcefully he needs to proclaim it.
“Yes,” I say on a hiss.
“This.” His finger slides almost imperceptibly deeper.
“Yes.”
It feels as if my whole body is quivering from his paltry possession. I can’t tell if it’s real or my imagination and I don’t dare pull my gaze from him to check to see if I’m trembling.
I just know that if he doesn’t slide that thick blue digit farther inside me, I will die, and it won’t be by the hand of one of our opponents.
I bend my knees, trying to impale myself, forcing him to fully penetrate me, but his reflexes are honed too well. His hand is ahead of my movement. He keeps his finger barely inside my entrance.
I wish I could hate him, but I’m too enthralled.
He punishes me by making me wait more moments with no further incursion. Finally, the finger dips deeper and I moan with pleasure as my head tosses back, my eyes closed in bliss.
It’s just a finger. Nothing should feel this good, certainly not one single finger, but my channel is fluttering around him.
“Mine,” he asserts with all the self-satisfaction of a man planting a flag onto new territory, claiming it as his.
“Yours,” I agree.
“Hold onto my arms,” he says as he begins to slide in and out of me. I don’t know how I manage to smile. This much pleasure is serious business, but the fact that I’m so close to release and the viewers are treated to none of it? This gives me even more enjoyment.
All they can see is his hand moving inside my pants and what I’m sure is the look of pure bliss on my face.
I clench around him, trying to feel every exquisite inch of him, but he just keeps shuttling in and out of me at a maddeningly slow pace.
