Page 76 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
One hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion, and the other clutching his head for dear life, I whimper as he opens me further using his thumbs, exposing all of me. Feasting on every part of me. He nibbles and sucks on my folds, flattens his tongue, and licks a wide path between them to torture my clit, only to start all over again.
A fire builds inside of me, stoked by his dedication to my pleasure, to my demise. I can’t remain still under his erotic ministrations, and the wilder I become, the more gleeful he seems. The more determined he seems to send me careening over the edge, as if my total lack of inhibitions is his endgame.
“Cyrus, please,” I whine. Because that’s what I’ve been rendered to. Whining. Begging. Pleading. “I need ...”
Everything.
Nuzzling my mound, he licks the tight bundle of nerves cresting my sex, then presses two of those elegant artist fingers to my entrance, sliding deep, so deep, filling me. And with only a crook and rub of his fingertips, I’m flying.
No wings. Who needs wings when Cyrus can make me free-fall like this?
When I finally fall back to earth, he’s there, like I knew he would be. Still, I trail my hands down his hard, wide chest, luxuriating in the tight, golden skin. The light dusting of dark hair across his pecs and the silky line that bisects his abdomen and disappears into the waistband of his jeans.
Jeans that need to come off.
Maybe he hears me. Or the more reasonable option is he wants to get inside me as much as I want him there. Still, he strips off his jeans, removes his wallet and a condom, quickly sheathes himself. Moving back between my legs, he cups my hips, sliding his hands under my ass and lifting me to him.
“Zora,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
I drag my eyes from where his cock is notched at the entrance to my sex. My chest rises and falls, rises and falls. When I meet Cyrus’s gaze, he nods.
“Eyes on me, baby. Be with me. Breathe with me.”
I inhale, exhale. Following his lead. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
“Come inside me,” I invite him.
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate. He thrusts forward, burying his cock, stretching me, filling me, branding me. I whimper against his mouth, and it’s part plea, part demand. And they’re the same word: more.
His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, even as his hips buck and grind, driving into me. Winding my legs around his waist, I open up to him, allow him to claim all of me, pound deeper, giving me all of his long thick length. As if in thanks, he strokes a hand up my back, tangles it in my hair, and tugs my head back, capturing my mouth. His tongue strokes inside, mimicking his cock, taking, claiming, leaving me thoroughly fucked.
Lifting his other hand to the back of the couch, he steadies himself and rides me hard, offering me no mercy. Pleasure sizzles and snaps through my body. My sex quivers as every one of Cyrus’s thrusts rubs the base of his cock against my clit, setting off minifireworks. I’m shaking—my thighs, my belly, my arms.
“Let me have it, baby,” he growls, reaching between us and strumming his fingers over my clit. “Give it to me.”
One more caress. Then another. And I’m exploding. Scattering in pieces. Even as my cries bounce around my head and ricochet off the walls of the room, his cock jerks within me, setting off another, smaller but just as intimate orgasm. I clutch him close, trusting him to be my safe place to fall.
Even if only for a little while.
