Page 31 of Nomad: Violent Devotion

“And you.” She pokes me in the chest. “You got to make my nice doctor’s hair all messy.”

That comment reminds me of what I want to know regarding the borrowed doctor. “Did you date him?” I ask boldly.

She flinches. “No. My father would never...” She tosses her hair. “He had a hard enough time with one of the patched members wanting to take me out. No chance would the sweet, nice doctor ever...” She drags her finger along my chest. “Ever get to take me out. You blew his mind tonight letting him touch me.”

“I aim to please. You didn’t seem averse to the idea.” I find her mouth and kiss her before she can object, needing her taste on my tongue. Sweetness and secrets and black lace. That’s what my girl tastes of. “I want to lick you. Crawl up on me.”

She bats at my hands when I pull her up. “Stop that. You have stitches.”

“Which is why I’m not spreading you out all over the bed. Sit on my face, little toy. Work yourself into a frenzy and let me soothe you.”

She bites her lip, but her eyes gleam. “Sounds fun.”

“Damn right. Get up here.” I slide down the bed until I’m at a level where Poppy can straddle my face. Her panties have been lost somewhere in the bedding. I’m glad as I love the feel of her skin on my tongue.

She sighs as she settles over me, tentative at first, and I wonder how many times she’s had the pleasure before, or if this is her first time. Clamping my hands around her thighs, I pull her into place, resting her firmly over my mouth. When I lick her folds the first time, she cries out, twitching in my hands.

I smile against her flesh, groaning when she reaches back to stroke me. It’s a simple matter to catch her wrists in my hands, but that means letting go of her thighs. I pinch her gently as a reminder to stay where she is, and then I get to work.

Her juices flow as I lap at her hole, tasting her cream. This will be messy as fuck and I pray she’ll smother me as she comes. The thought of her taking all the pleasure she wants, uninhibited, leaves me hard and straining.

After a moment, she begins to move. Slow at first, Poppy builds a rhythm, rocking her hips back and forth, grinding over my lips and beard. I catch her clit between my teeth and tongue, and flick the little bud delicately, then suck on it.

Heat gushes into my mouth. I swallow fast, lapping at her as she rocks, lost in bliss. Hands catch her lace-covered tits and squeeze, massaging before she pulls at her nipples. One hand drifts between her legs and I let her get herself off as I lap at her hole, aching for more from her. She doesn’t disappoint, getting herself off in record time.

Poppy’s last cry echoes around my room. She falls forward, and I catch her, uncaring about the stitches this time. Slowly I drag her back down my body until our mouths are level. Then I tuck her close and kiss her, long and slow and deep, as though she’s the only woman I’ll ever kiss again.

Poppy’s shuddering breaths send blood flowing south but I ignore my erection, even when her hand curls around me. I pull her away, even when I’m aching to come in her palm, and she stares up at me in confusion as lightning lances across her gaze, a reflection of the storm moving away outside, the worst of it a distance from the farm now.

“Why not?’ Her fingertips glide over the shape of me straining against her touch, bare skin against skin as I sleep naked. “I want to do this for you.”

“Let me kiss you, cosita. You’re safe,” I murmur, wrapping my hands in her hair. Another night I might use my fists to guide her lower, choke her on my cock while I spilled my release down her throat. Tonight, all I want is to kiss the hell out of this beautiful woman who is caught between worlds she never chose and now will never be free of.

Unless I do something about that.

My heart wrenches a second time, but this time, the pain in my chest isn’t half as bad. Sure, I’ll lose her, but she won’t be with her father. Fucking Samuel. Not a Tyrant or a Saint. The man’s just a plain, ugly bastard.

“Let me kiss you,” I repeat, drawing her back to me. “Let me keep you awake all night with my tongue in your mouth and our bodies pressed together, hot and wet and sticky. And then, in the morning, I want to show you what something you’ve never had tastes like.”

“Better than this?” She licks her own juices from my lips and I swear I’ll burst before her tongue slides into my mouth.

I force myself to remain still and take the torture she inflicts on me. “Even that.”

“Maybe.” She sounds unconvinced when I kiss her hard then pull back enough to see her pout that’s cute as sin.

“Freedom, little toy.” I tap her nose with my fingertip when her eyes widen, and she stares at me, her mouth agape. “I’m going to give you freedom.”

Part of me hopes she understands that cost as she watches me with eyes wide and mouth in a fascinating “O” shape that I slide my tongue straight into and show her exactly why making out is not an overrated skill. Her hands claw at my back as I pop a knee between her legs, grunting my satisfaction when she humps my thigh.

And part of me wants her to sleep for the rest of the night without registering the fact that tomorrow will mean independence for her.

And the opposite for me.

Chapter Nine

Time to Fix This

Poppy