Or, more likely, he was trying to figure out whatIliked.
It was toomuch.
But also…not nearly enough.
Jesus, I needed to get off this fucking wall before I lost my shit…
Cheriour suckled along my collarbone while his hand slipped under my shirt.
Too late. My shit was lost.
I made an embarrassing moan when he twirled his callous roughened fingers over my belly button. I wanted him to dig those fingers in. And move them. Up or down, I wasn’t fussy.
He nipped at the curve of my shoulder, that laugh rolling through him again when I made another awkward noise.
I stood up on my tiptoes, itching to shove him toward the bed.
Instead, I tugged at my hair again, relishing the pain. The distraction.
That live wire I’d touched earlier? My hand must’ve gotten glued to it. Because the shuddering wouldn’t stop. Electricity ran in currents through my veins, needing, pleading for an outlet for…for…
I bucked my hips into his, heard his sharp intake of breath, and I couldn’t stop. My hands twined around his back, grabbing at his hips, his ass, his upper thighs. Everything was rock solid. I might as well have been grinding myself against the statue of David.
Except, I didn’t think the statue of David could make the same soft hums Cheriour made.
The statue of David also wouldn’t be languorously humping me back, while suckling at my earlobe.
I whimpered when he hit agoodspot.
He paused, his deep (and only slightly unsteady) breaths caressing my cheek, and cupped my chin in his palm, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
And the fuckinglookon his face as he stared down at me…
The horny guy expression (pupils blown wide, jaw kinda slack, brows furrowed, stare all intense and smoldering) was always a major turn-on for me. I loved seeing a guy writhe.
But this was different.
Cheriour’s eyes were placid. Happy.
I reached for him, caressing the scar around his left eye. The skin there was puckered. Rough. Almost leathery. And the scar ran right across his eyelid. Whatever had cut him had gottenextremelyclose to blinding him.
Cheriour leaned into my palm, his breath tickling the inside of my wrist, and closed his eyes. He looked less horny (despite the taut lower half of his body) and more ready to zonk out.
Relaxed.
He wasutterlyrelaxed.
Cheriour never let his guard down. Ever. He’d fought tooth and nail to stay semi-conscious even when he wasdying. It was overwhelming to see him lower those guards, even if only for a moment, while wrapped in my arms.
It almost made me cry.
Cheriour huffed, his laugh a raspy sound, as he kissed the heel of my palm.
And then he moved again. Again. And a fucking third time. It was just right, but also not even close to what I needed. He applied enough pressure to put me on the edge, but not enough to send me on the nosedive.
With another low chuckle, Cheriour lowered his head, nuzzled the collar of my shirt aside, and got a good (almost harsh) bite. All while driving his crotch into mineyet again.
“Fuck!” I hissed.
