Page 16 of Reaper's Desire

His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. "I was looking for you."

"I was looking for you too."

The admission hangs between us, charging the air like a lightning strike before a storm, and then he's reaching for me, his hand sliding around my waist, pulling me against him. "Let's get out of here," he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear.

I don't hesitate. "Yes."

—

We barely makeit through the door of my hotel room before his hands are on me.

He slams the door shut behind us and pins me against it, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desperate need. I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like whiskey, and he makes my head spin and my body ache.

His hands are everywhere—sliding up my thighs, gripping my ass, pulling me against him so I can feel how hard he is. I arch into him, grinding against his erection, and he groans, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck," he mutters against my mouth. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Me neither," I gasp, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.

He pulls back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I take a moment to appreciate the view. He's all lean muscle and hard lines, his chest and abs defined in a way that makes my mouth water. There's a scar on his ribs and another on his shoulder, and I want to trace them with my tongue, run it all over the lines of ink that cover his smooth skin.

I didn't get to appreciate him properly last night, drunk as I was, and now I want to lick every single inch of him.

But before I can, he grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it up and over my head, tossing it aside. I'm left standing in just my heels and a black lace thong, and the way he looks at me as he takes in the sight of my bare breasts, my taut stomach, the curve of my hips and my thighs—it makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Christ," he breathes, his eyes dark with hunger. "You're fucking perfect."

And then his mouth is on my neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks, and I cry out, my head falling back against the door.

He's rougher tonight, more demanding. His hands grip my wrists and pin them above my head, holding me in place as his mouth moves lower, his teeth grazing over my collarbone, my breasts, my nipples. Everywhere his mouth goes burns, electricity zapping over my nerves as I arch and writhe against him. He's going to fuck me up against this door, I realize, and I want him to. I want him to fuck me anywhere he wants. I'm already soaking wet, my body trembling with need, and when his free hand slides between my thighs, his fingers brushing over the damp lace of my thong, I nearly come apart right there.

"Please," I whimper, my hips bucking against his hand. I'm begging, and I don't even care. I'll do anything if he'll make me come again like he did last night. If he'll satisfy this ridiculous craving that he makes me feel.

"Please what?" he murmurs, his voice rough and teasing.

"Please touch me. Please fuck me. Please?—"

He cuts me off with another bruising kiss, his fingers sliding beneath the lace and finding me wet and ready. He groans into my mouth, his fingers circling my clit in slow, torturous strokes that make me whimper and writhe against him. "You're so fucking wet," he mutters. "Did you get wet thinking about me?"

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, I—fuck?—"

He slides two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that makes my knees buckle, and I cry out, my body clenching around him. "That's it," he murmurs, his mouth against my ear. "Come for me, pretty girl. I want to feel you come on my fingers." His fingers keep working inside of me, driving me insane, and all I want ismore. More of all of it. I want to come so badly it hurts, a deep ache in my abdomen that only he can ease.

It doesn't take long. I'm already so close, so desperate, and when he adds a third finger, stretching me, filling me, I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, my body convulsing, my nails digging into his shoulders as I cry out.

He doesn't give me time to recover. He drops to his knees, yanking my lacy thong fully to one side, and lifts one leg over his shoulder. His tongue flattens between my thighs, dragging up as he parts my folds, and he groans as if tasting me is the best pleasure he's ever received.

"Fuck," he moans, gasping as he reaches my clit, pulling back just slightly. "Eating you out makes me so fucking hard."

I gasp at that, my head falling back against the door as he pushes two fingers into me, his tongue lashing against my clit. He gives me no quarter, no time to slowly come back from the first orgasm. He drives me relentlessly into a second, his tongue focused entirely on my clit, his lips sucking at my overstimulated flesh.

My fingers claw at his hair, his scalp, as my hips buck forward onto his face, writhing and grinding as I moan helplessly. The orgasm surges through me, weakening my knees until the only thing holding me up is him.

He pulls his fingers out and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and he fumbles between us, undoing his belt and shoving his pants and boxers to the floor. His cock springs up between us as my breath comes in ragged gasps, and I stare down at it, eyes widening.

I vaguely remember thinking he was big, but sober, I'm even more startled by his size. He's thick and long and already leaking at the tip, and I lick my lips, my mouth watering. He smirks.

"Later," he says, his voice rough. "Right now I need to be inside you."

And then he angles himself between my legs, and his hips jerk, sinking himself into me in one long, hard thrust that makes me cry out.