“I’m very well-balanced.”
“Are you?” My fingertips graze the front of his pants, scraping along the hard, swollen shaft beneath. “Are you always level-headed and focused?”
Ravager shudders, and his eyes roll up. “Not fair, Devil girl.”
I run my fingernails along his erection a few more times. Then I press my whole hand over the bulge, finding the edges with my fingers, stroking firmly.
He’s a good size—not huge, but slightly above average. Just the size I personally prefer. Like he was tailor-made for me.
My lips press softly to his ear. “Off-balance yet?”
He lifts both hands, gripping the rafter above his head to steady himself. He doesn’t tell me to stop.
I trace the bulging end of his cock under the pants. The tip of my thumb locates the tender indentation right beneath thehead, and I focus my attention on that, making tiny circles over that spot.
“Don’t make a sound.” My voice is barely a breath.
His whole body is rigid, muscles hard with intense desire. It strikes me that I’d love to see him like this, only naked. Maybe oiled up a bit. Maybe with his hands tied above his head.
I cup him between the legs and pet his cock warmly, almost tenderly, before I go back to teasing the underside of the tip. His length flexes beneath the material, throbbing against my thumb.
Then, without warning, I touch his left nipple through his shirt.
He groans aloud.
Instantly the creature below us springs up, its triple jaws opening halfway. Its fan ripples and its tails undulate this way and that, like they’re tasting the air.
I press my body closer to Ravager, gripping him through his pants while thrills of terror and arousal course through me. I’ve never felt more alive, more in danger, or more powerful than I do right now. It’s contradictory, yet deeply true. There’s a beast guarding the only exit, ravenous for our souls and voices, yet my enemy is still rock-hard in my hand, utterly vulnerable to my touch.
I have no idea why I affect him like this. Either he’s an absolute sex fiend, or there’s something about me he finds uniquely appealing.
Ravager wears a tortured, almost haunted expression, like he’s in terrible pain, and yet when I start to lift my hand away, his hips surge toward the contact. It’s a helpless, needy reaction, and I’m too keyed-up to ignore it. Something inside me feeds off his obvious desire, his pathetic need to get off.
Once again, I put my mouth to his ear, pushing my breasts against his side while I drag my nails up his length. “I’m going to make you come in your pants.”
“You’re demented,” he breathes.
“Says the man who fingered me next to the body of his dead accomplice. Do you want me to stop?”
He shakes his head.
I touch his chest again, my fingertips wandering the thickness of his pectoral muscles, then slipping daintily around his nipples. He quakes, panting, a faint curse floating from his mouth.
The bruised part of his side attracts my attention, and I press my palm there lightly until he whispers, “Please...”
“Does that hurt?”
He nods. I press again, vindictively, then skate my fingernails around his nipples once more. His head tilts back and his mouth opens in a silent groan.
When my hand returns to his bulge, I curl my fingers around him as far as I can through the pants. I rub from base to tip, a compulsive rhythm that feels right. He’s sweating, striving not to make any sound above a whisper, but his control is rapidly eroding.
I’ve never pleasured this particular man before, and yet I’m strangely attuned to him. I swear I can practicallyfeelwhat he needs.
With my mind entirely focused on him, I watch his face tighten in beautiful agony. I stroke his sensitive length, wishing I could touch him naked, wishing I could nestle his bare cock between my thighs…
He comes with a hard convulsion of every muscle. His mouth is open, but he’s silent, though the cords of his throat are taut with unreleased groans. His body arches, hips surging forward as he struggles to finish out the orgasm. I have half a mind to ruin it for him, but I take pity on him and stroke him through it firmly, slowly, while his cock throbs under my palm. Itease the wet spot with my finger, making sure the dampness spreads on his pants. I want it to be obvious that he came for me.
After wiping my palm and fingers on Ravager’s shirt, I leave him there, with his arms braced and the front of his pants slick and soaked. I shuffle along the beam, putting distance between us. When he looks down at himself and then gives me an annoyed glare, I can’t help smirking.
