Page 50 of Fuse

The woman who reignites all the joy, relief, and celebration in my spirit with the high, gorgeous, orgasmic scream she rips into the night.

“Ohhhhh, Reece!”

Who seizes me by my biceps, using the leverage to haul herself off the ground, her wide turquoise eyes consuming my vision before mashing her lips on mine with ferocious, delicious need.

“Mmmmmm!”

Who sends her hot moan through my mouth and down my throat, all but making me come again from our sinuous, sizzling connection.

“Shit,” she erupts when we’ve finally broken apart. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I’m not sure whether to growl or laugh while securing my hands beneath her, supporting her supple form in all its writhing gorgeousness. I end up doing both, unable to help myself. She’s never been more hypnotizing, as if her every inhibition was left behind in the resurrection of her climax, and she’s celebrating by offering her naked beauty to the moon and me. She’s free and flawless and fair…

And alive.

So fucking alive.

Thank you.

My soul turns it into a litany as I continue to hold her, reveling in the erotic spell of her. At last, after she’s taken at least fifty full breaths and I’m no longer dreading she’ll stop, I lower my face to the crevice between her breasts, inhaling the coconut and honey ambrosia from her sweat-trickled skin, reaffirming the heartbeat that answers my fervent kiss.

“It’s good, baby?” I rasp.

“Good?” She laughs. “This isn’t good. This is…this is…”

“Magnificent?” I supply when it’s obvious another orgasm is sneaking up on her from the inside. “A miracle?” And because I can’t help myself once again, I lean in deeper, sliding my tongue into the succulent fruit at her core. At once, tangy juices drench my tongue, and I know I’ve found my most favorite dessert.

“Oh, God!” Her cry comes right before the vibrations through her pussy, turning into scintillating sucks on my tongue and waves of heat against my lips. She drops a hand into my hair and twists, using the hold as leverage to grind that perfect pink pulp into every corner of my mouth. It’s a treat I’ll savor forever. A moment I’ll remember always. The night heaven returned my velvet angel to me. The night I gave thanks for that by devouring every inch of her pulsing sweet cunt.

“Fuck!” Another shudder claims her. Another flood of her hot liquid hits my mouth. I moan and swallow, taking her in as if she’s life to me—because she is. “Fuck! Reece! It’s…it’s so much. I…I can’t take any more…”

“Oh, baby.” I edge my murmur with cocky chastisement. “Of course you can. And you will.”

“Please.” She’s all breath in her throat but raw yearning in her grip, still practically tearing my hair out of my scalp. “Please. Damn it, now you really are trying to kill me!”

So much for the fun recess. Just like that, she’s spiked me back to raw agony—and outrage.

I slam up and over her, replacing my lips with my fingers and hovering my glowering face over her startled one. “Bite. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” I snarl it with the same vehemence as my driving thrusts into her, giving her no room to think that line will ever be a joke between us again. And while she widens those breathtaking blues with new respect, no way does it diminish their answering fire—the blazes she always brings whenever I’ve got her heart racing and her pussy throbbing. The infernos she knows I love, even now. Especially now.

The fuses that turn her lips into a teasing, tantalizing little smile.

“‘Bite my tongue,’ Mr. Richards?” she jibes back in a sultry drawl. “What, are you asking for permission or something?”

I cock my head and arch a brow. “Depends on what the answer is, Miss Crist.”

Her stare drifts down to my lips. “Don’t you think there’s always room for another bite? Or two?”

With a savoring growl, I lower my head once again. It’s not only the most direct path to that perfect bow of her mouth; it’s the fastest way to show her just how thankful I am—for all of this. For all of her.

What a woman the universe has given to me.

To me.

Sometimes I still can’t believe it. Other times, it feels like fate’s most logical and loving wisdom. Who else but Emmalina Paisley Crist could have taken my broken soul and healed it—and saved her own damn life in the process—with the magic of her complete, crazy, near-death trust stunt? The woman has to be the bravest, boldest, most batshit bonkers person I’ve ever met.

But I’m pretty sure people have said that about every other miracle worker who’s ever lived as well.

I just thank God—and whoever the hell else helped Him create her—that this miracle is all mine for the rest of time.