Page 93 of Dreadful

He just stares up at me—his lips swollen from kissing, eyes black pools in the moonlight. He pushes his shoulders between my thighs until I adjust, opening wider for him. His palms slide up my legs, thumbs pressing into the tense muscles. Without breaking eye contact, his fingers find the knots of my bikini bottoms. The left side comes undone with a gentle tug, then the right. My breath catches high in my throat as the fabric loosens.

My head turns automatically, scanning the dark backyard through the slats of the fence.

“Gage,” I whisper. It’s a warning and a plea. I can’t tell if I’m about to beg him or caution him against whatever he’s about to do next.

He exhales through his nose, and the sound is ragged, unsteady. His fingers hook into the waistband of my bikini bottoms and tugs. The fabric falls away with a soft sound against the tile beneath me.

He doesn’t look away from my face once. He swallows, and his thumb traces a slow line down the inside of my thigh, and when I shiver he does it again, harder.

There are a thousand unspoken things floating between us, and more than half of them are downright filthy.

My breathing has gone shallow and quick—I can hear it, little hitching sounds I can’t control. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he watches me and leans forward—closer, closer, closer—until his mouth is a whisper away from me.

“Oh, fuck,” I murmur.

It’s the last coherent thought I have before he seals his mouth to my cunt.

And then he fucking devours me.

THIRTY

BELLAMY

Gage groans against my cunt, this low, guttural noise that sparks pleasure along my spine. He’s a man starved. Eating like he’s been waiting for this for years—like he didn’t make me come just a few days ago.

His tongue is slow and greedy as he does his best to memorize every inch of me.

My fingers flex, tangled in fistfuls of his hair, as I hold him to me.

I don’t know what I did in this life to be so deserving of such worship, but I thank every lucky star that I am.

My skin is a fevered prison, stretched taut over the shuddering mess he’s making of me. My thighs try to close against the pressure building inside me, but his broad shoulders are a solid barrier, holding me open. His thumbs bracket my clit, spreading me wider for the homage of his mouth.

There is no part of me his tongue does not lay claim to—no hidden curve, no sensitive fold. It is a thorough, devastating intimacy, and a broken sound catches in my throat at the sheer filth of it.

“You taste fucking delicious, Bell. Like goddamn sugar and fucking mine,” he says, flicking his tongue across my clit as he stares up at me.

I am going to come apart in his hands, and the knowledge is both a relief and a triumph.

My orgasm shatters through me without preamble—a silent, seismic rupture that locks my muscles and arches my spine off the cool tile. My vision blanks into pure sensation as he coaxes wave after wave from my body with the slow, relentless skill of someone who knows exactly how to ruin me.

When he gently grazes my clit with his teeth, the pleasure sharpens, endless and consuming, until I am nothing but a raw nerve exposed to the night air.

When he finally pulls away, time has dissolved. I collapse backward, arm flung over my eyes, breathing in ragged hitches that don’t seem to belong to me.

“You still with me, Bells?” His voice is rough, his lips brushing my cunt as he speaks.

“Jesus Christ, Gage. That was⁠—”

A low chuckle vibrates against my skin. “That good, hmm?”

I surge up, fists tangling in his wet hair, dragging his mouth to mine. He braces his hands on the tile and meets me halfway. The taste of myself on his tongue is startling, intimate—a dark current that reignites everything he just unspooled.

This—this is only the beginning.

I pull back and sink my teeth into the center of his bottom lip. “Fuck me,” I breathe against his mouth.

He groans, low and ragged, and hauls us both out of the water in one motion. My bikini bottoms are a forgotten puddle on the tile. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms locking behind his neck, skin slick and sealed against his. The night air raises goosebumps along my back.