Page 9 of Light

“Who says that’s a problem?”

I don’t even try to concoct a quip at that. Not when the man puts actions to his words, jerking at the cinch of his towel so it puddles at our feet.

The shoosh of the material on the floor coincides with my dazed sigh. Holy God. This man and his flawless penis. Will I ever get over my amazement at him—and it? No wonder he’s always had girls fighting like rabid spider monkeys to have it just for a night.

Not anymore.

This god is mine, for always and forever. I indulge one more moment of feminine victory about that, using the excuse to admire him more. He’s long and proud but with a girth that promises ultimate satisfaction, especially with the mighty veins standing out against the burnished hardness. Veins that pulse with a mesmerizing cobalt hue from the moment I stroke him, starting at his taut balls and ending at the searing bulb at his tip.

“Bunny,” he rasps, rolling his hips to shuttle that stunning length in and out of my grip. “Holy fuck.”

I press closer, working him over with taunting little twists. “That a threat or a promise, Bolt Man?”

“Neither.” He punctuates with a short smash of his lips to mine. “Too much thinking required.”

I find the presence for a flirty pout. “So no holy fucking?”

Taking out my inner coquette has clearly unlocked the cage on his inner Cro-Magnon. And damn, does the caveman look go well with this man’s dark gorgeousness. With his nostrils flaring and his cheekbones harsh slashes beneath his skin, he seizes me by the hand and drags me across the bedroom. But he doesn’t take me to the bed. Within a few steps, we’re in front of the arched window that overlooks the back garden. I smile as I look down to the sturdy hammock swing hanging from the tree—and the illicit way we used it when “christening” the garden during our first week in the house.

But the smile doesn’t stay in place long.

It’s replaced by my stunned gape, courtesy of my tantalizing troglodyte and his horny impatience, who reaches from behind me to unlatch the window. In the same motion, he swings out the dual panes. In the next second, he’s planting my hands atop the small ledge and then pushing the insides of my feet with his.

He spreads me wide until I’m secured and braced at both edges of the indention. Inside another second, he’s shoved my dress up to my waist. Inside the third, he twists his other hand into the waistband of my lace panties, causing my pussy to clench and gush. Oh, gawd. It’s such a clichéd reaction to a seduction stereotype, but for a guy who can—and has, many times—fry away that waistband like a torch through butter, this grabbing-the-undies thing is new for him—and thus, for me.

And it’s exciting as hell.

A new color to the fireworks. A new amplitude to the electric box. Which definitely means the sexy beast is going to get what he damn well wants from my sweet box.

And yeah, I just went for that cliché, as well.

And yeah, do I mean every syllable.

God.

Yes.

Anything.

Not that I’m capable of knowing what a syllable even is as soon as the man leans in while torqueing my underwear tighter. I moan deeply, reacting to the delicious pain as the lace slices into the skin above my mons. I tense a little, waiting for the inevitable rip, but damn it if the man isn’t aware of everything his torment is doing to me—so instead of destroying the panties, he starts using them. Yes, just as they are. Yes, without any extra voltage from his fingertips. Just that strip of lace, transformed into a stiff blade, and his artistry with it as a weapon of erotic intent.

Which, at the moment, involves sliding the material along my most sensitive flesh. And then again. And then—despite how I buck and gasp and wriggle as my clit shivers and shudders and pulses—yet again.

At last, he dips in closer. Fits his mouth against my ear while giving my pussy a reprieve from his wicked treatment. But it’s not the enormous relief it seems, with his breath coming in torrid gusts along with the carnal words he brings in between.

“You’re completely right, my beautiful bunny. No holy fucking right now.” He wields his teeth too, sinking them into the flesh beneath my ear. “Only rutting.” Then bites me harder. “Claiming. Burning. Owning.”

Somehow, I force my lips around a word of response.

“Yes.”

Then shove my hips back, offering more of my intimacy to his deeper invasion.

“Yes.”

Then gyrate against him, all but demanding him to finally set my crotch free—so it can fully service his.

“Yes!”