As if he’s searching for something, as if he can drink my very soul through this intimate, devastating connection.
A broken, keening sound tears from my throat, and I realize it’s his name. “Ripper.”
From the growl that comes from him, he likes how I say his namea lot.
My fingers fist the thick blankets, my back arching off the mattress. Every nerve ending is on fire, singing a song I never knew existed. The constant, gnawing worry that has been my companion for weeks—fear for my brother, terror of this club, the crushing uncertainty of my future—it all just… melts away.
There is only this bed, the slick, hot friction of his mouth, and the shocking, coiling tension building low in my belly.
He shifts, his tongue finding a new, perfect rhythm, and a whimper is punched from my lungs. My eyes squeeze shut, seeing bursts of color behind my lids. This isn’t gentle or hesitant.
I’m thinking that if he could, Ripper would sink his teeth into my body to mark me. More than a hickie or two, but a genuine mark that’ll last for a few weeks.
His tongue traces the slit of my folds before flicking against my clit, revealing just how sensitive it is when he wraps his lips around it.
“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he growls, the vibration against my sensitive flesh making me jerk. “Sweet and sinful. I’m gonna get addicted to this. To the way you fucking tremble.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I can feel it coming. The approach of my orgasm, a tidal wave gathering force deep inside. One little jerk of my hips lands me pressed deeper into the mattress, a silent plea.
Like he can sense my pleasure peaking, he secures his grip on me. Fingers dig into my hips, holding me down. My pained, desperate moan only seems to turn him on more.
“Come for me,” he rasps, his breath hot against my wet skin. “Let me taste it. I want to drink every last drop of you.”
It’s a silent scream, a white-hot detonation that seizes every muscle in my body, arching my back off the bed. Pleasure, so sharp it borders on pain, radiates out from my core in endless, pulsing waves. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
A whine tears from my throat as the sensitivity becomes overwhelming. I try to squirm away, but he just growls, a low, feral sound that vibrates straight through me. His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me closer, burying his face deeper as if he’s starving and I’m his only sustenance.
He licks and laps at me, drawing out the shudders, drinking every last tremor of my release like a man dying of thirst.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening. His pupils have swallowed up all the brown, leaving nothing but darkness behind.
“Gonna fuck you now, Haven,” he rasps, his voice even deeper than before. He’s not asking. He’s not shy. He’s stating a fact, like he can already see the future. “Gonna pop that pretty little cherry of yours. Once I’m buried deep, I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.”
The words are a bucket of ice water. Somehow, he already knows about my virginity.
As tempting as this man is, I can’t completely cave. Not now. Not when…
Paulie…
Panic, cold and sharp, claws its way through the post-orgasmic haze. The deal. My brother. This entire arrangement hinges on my not being a complete fool. My brother is still depending on me.
“No,” I gasp, the word breathless. I shake my head, my hair tangling around my face. “I can’t. Not… not until you hold up your end. You find my brother. Then—”
Then,what?I let him have his way with me? Devour me completely and leave nothing behind?
For a heartbeat, his predatory stillness is more terrifying than his movement. Then, a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. It’s all teeth, no warmth. A wolf baring its fangs.Him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he says, the words a low, appreciative rumble. “There’s no way in hell I’ll last through the night. Not when the last few hours have been completely hell.”
He wouldn’t… No. Even if Ripper insists he’s not a good man, he’s notevil.
In one motion, he stands up from the bed. The loss of his heat is immediate, the air cool against my damp, overheated skin. My eyes are glued to him, a moth trapped in the mesmerizing flame of his fury and frustration.
His hands, those same hands that held me so possessively, now claw at the button of his jeans. He pops it open and yanks the zipper down with a harsh, metallic rasp. He shoves the denim and his boxers down just enough to free himself, and I stop breathing.
I’ve seen classical statues and diagrams in health class. Nothing—nothing—prepares me for the reality of him.
He’s thick and hard, the skin stretched taut, the head a dark, flushed purple. A single prominent vein runs along the length, and it looks… painful. It looks powerful. A weapon as deadly as the others he carries.
