He groaned and she felt the sensations all the way to her core.
Her heart thundered and then he was there, nipping at her clit, setting a slow, fluttering pace that was gentle and yet increased in pleasure. She bobbed her head, gripping him at the base. He was big enough that it took all her focus to ease him down her throat, and yet she couldn’t concentrate. She braced her hands on the mattress, her fingers digging into the sheets.
The sound that came out of her was so bare, so exposed and needy. It was a cry of near want. A mewl. She’d never believed she was able to make such a helpless sound. He hooked three fingers inside her. Crooking his fingers, he pressed hard. She didn’t just see stars but the origins of the entire universe and the forever blackness that preceded everything. And she made that sound again and again.
She was coming. The force of it slammed her head down on him, and she felt his legs tense as his cock throbbed. He was there too. And she’d brought him to that point.
He lunged a tongue down straight into her contracting pussy and that decided it. She’d never swallowed. Never wanted to with another guy. But her brain must be blown because she reached down, skimmed his sac with the bottom of her finger and he lost himself.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck. Holy fucking shit.”
She took it all, loving every second. Shudders racked them. Their bewildered cries vibrated into their most secret skin. All she knew for certain was that she had one hell of an unfolding crisis on her hands. Because while Tor Gunnar might be infuriating, he was also completely irresistible.
Chapter Twelve
“Sorry there, Mr. Pie, I want cake,” Neve rambled in a husky voice.
Tor choked down a laugh. Good one. She’d woken him a half hour ago with more sleep talking, most of it unintelligible gibberish, but some lines were pure gold:
Into the dungeon!
Is itshankorshark? Never mind, he had it coming.
Grey dawn light seeped beneath the curtains. He hadn’t moved a single muscle, unwilling to break the strange spell spun around the bed, even to taste her soft lips. This moment was good—better than good. The mattress a perfect balance between soft and hard, her naked body spooning into his. When was the last time he’d felt this relaxed in his own skin, this peaceful—
“You have to die,” she announced drowsily, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay because it’s funny.”
Christ.She was something else. His brow wrinkled in amusement as he smoothed a strand of damp hair over her flushed cheek. Maybe not peaceful, but one thing was for certain—being in the company of Neve Angel was anything but dull.
Memories from the night before engulfed him like a rising river, leaving him tossed about and breathless. The lithe weight of her body settling over his torso. The shy way she initially ground into his mouth, tentative at first but more confident and insistent as the need set in. Never had he experienced anything close to the wild urgency that had taken hold. It wasn’t as if he’d spent the past twenty years as a meat-and-potatoes missionary man, but he’d never been that uninhibited. The idea of loosening up was as foreign as another language. It was hard to take down walls that he’d built during his earliest childhood.
For the first thirteen years of his life, he’d watched his father systematically abuse his mother. There’d been the time when he was seven and jumped in front of his mom, facing down his drunken father with a scream of rage.Stop hurting her!Dad didn’t listen. That time he hurt Tor too, took him into the garage and beat welts into his ass with jumper cables. Afterward, his mom made him put his hand on the family Bible and promise to never speak up when his dad drank again, to stay quiet and nevereverair their family’s dirty laundry in public. Not to relatives. Not to teachers. The worst thing a person could do was share their business. And then she got the cancer and his old man quit drinking and took up religion, never losing an opportunity to praise his dead wife as the best woman he’d ever known.
Tor frowned darkly. He couldn’t find a way to forgive or forget. Dad had ruined his mother’s life as a lousy husband. A waterfall of crocodile tears couldn’t bring her back. In college the next year, on a hockey scholarship, Tor had declared a major in psychology. He’d never felt easy with other people, and yet, it seemed smart to get a better understanding of the way they ticked. What motivated them. What enraged them. Their hopes. Their dreams.
And he was damn good at the subject, at least when it came to his specialty—sports psychology. But when it came to women, all bets were off. He didn’t understand them. But he also knew why. He was afraid to get close to them. He’d lived through his parents’ devastated marriage and then his own. He’d learned his lessons from childhood well, too well—suck it up, don’t cry, don’t feel—and despite every wish to the contrary, had never been able to fully drop his guard. Even with Maddy. Instead, he put his head down, toiled like a caveman hunting water buffalo. And it worked. He had professional success. No one could fault him as a good provider.
But it hadn’t been enough. Apparently the old saying was true and money couldn’t buy happiness.
Thump.
The noise came from the bathroom.
“Enchilada,” Neve mumbled.
The Adeline was an old hotel. It could have been a pipe—hot water kicking on in another room.
Just as he began to turn, ready to wake Neve up with that certain ear-sucking trick that drove her wild last night—Slam!The bathroom door banged shut.
He jerked. “What the hell?” He swung his legs out from under the blanket. Feet pounding the floor, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his bare waist. “Olive, honey? Is that you?”
Silence answered.
He walked around the corner. No one was there. He opened the bathroom door and flicked on the light. His own reflection stared back. A bite mark on his chest.
No one was there.
Goose bumps broke out across the base of his neck as he turned to check the windows. All were closed.
