Page 60 of Death of a Mortal

The hand on my jaw remained while his other found my lower back and pulled me fully against him. An even sharper desire replaced the momentary relief of finally feeling his body. My eyes drifted shut.

He first kissed above my eyebrow, and then moved frustratingly slowly to my temple, then to the place my ear met my jaw, on my left side.

Myscarredside.

I took another breath as his mouth lingered for a moment over the worst of the scarring.

“I’ll stop if you say so, Naci.”

“No,” I huffed out. I thought I might die if he stopped. The scars were just so new.

“Good, I would much rather hear you beg for more.”

This male would be the death of me—my complete undoing. And I was beyond caring.

He kissed every bit of the shell of my ear from the very top, around, and down to the lobe, taking the flesh between his teeth and biting hard enough to make my back arch and drive my breasts harder against his chest.

“Six.”

“Hm?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, and I didn’t care. I just needed more.

He smiled against my neck, where his lips had started a trail of kisses from my jaw to my collarbone, while a hand found the strap of my slip and slid it off my shoulder.

His teeth found the other strap and pulled it over my shoulder, sharp canines grazing my skin as he did, making me clench deep in my core.

“Five.”

I had no idea what he was counting, but as long as he kept going, it didn’t matter.

He pulled both straps the rest of the way down, taking the lace with them, and released my aching, heavy breasts. The caress of the cool air only slightly eased the overbearing heat.

His mouth then moved from my collarbone to the divot at the base of my throat, my head thrown back in pure, unashamed ecstasy. His kisses were featherlight but weighed on my desire like lead.

The back of his knuckles grazed ever so softly over my peaked nipples in tandem, driving me absolutely wild with desire.

“Are you soaking wet for me yet, Naci?”

I was. I knew it. “You tell me,” I said—borderline begged, more like.

“I already know that you are. I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me how wet you are for me.”

Before I could answer, he took my hand and guided it toward the gathering pool between my legs.

His fingers guided mine to move the material aside and plunge inside me, drawing a gasp that he swallowed with a deep kiss.

The first time he’d kissed me on the lips. The building sexual tension drowned out what would have been an emotionally pivotal moment.

He was guiding my fingers in and out while his tongue explored mine for the first time, devouring my soft moan.

“Tell me how wet you are, Naci.”

“So wet. Soaking.” That was all I could manage to say.

“Four.”

“What”—plunge and gasp—“are you counting?”

“An apology for every minute I kept you waiting. I have three more before I can say I’ve repented.”