God, he makes me feel adored.
With his eyes. Words. Gifts. Unspoken gestures.
“I’ve been collecting little pieces of you for years—gems I’ve pocketed away.”
Nodding, I whisper my response to his claiming, a lump in my throat straining my words. “Yours, Ty.”
Where most see the release as an ending, he views it as an invigorating beginning.
It’s always in the after with him. A never-done passion.
That point is furthered when he lays me down on the table—still buried inside me—disregarding the laundry that I attemptedto fold, and splays me out like a filthy feast. “Pinch your nipples for me, baby girl. Hard.”
I obey, perplexed but complaisant and enjoying the stinging pressure. These instances of whiplash with him are beginning to feel like home. His all-over-the-place moods suit me.
Flourishing and floundering from one moment to the next.
“You like that little bit of pain, don’t you?” he observes, surveying me with a slow perusal. “Fuck, I can’t wait to deliver one fantasy after another to you. If you haven’t noticed, I’m obsessed. With you. With making you come. With seeing your smile.”
Obsessed? That’s new. Or maybe it isn’t. But I like it.
He glides his cock out with a guttural hum and quickly replaces it with his fingers, pushing them in and out. Lifting my legs so my heels rest on the ledge, he inspects my pussy or whatever the hell he’s doing down there.
After several strokes, he presents me with his glistening fingers. “Taste.” He shoves them in my mouth like he’s done before, but his voice is husky, thick with emotion. “We’re so fucking good together.”
I suck and purr, my pupils blowing wide in agreement—we are good together. “Heaven.”
“Fucking heaven,” he heaves before kneeling on the floor and descending upon my core like a lost and starved man, searching for the meal that will fill him. Body, mind, and soul.
His tongue laves over me, devouring our cum cocktail with a throaty warble of satisfaction. And my heart thrashes in harmony. This really is a glorious cage.
I’m so swollen, so sensitive—twitchy zaps of rhapsody ripping through me to whiz up my spine—but no less willing to let him inhale me. The languid caresses of his tongue are so soothing, almost like aftercare in and of itself. Each swipe is both enthralling and sanative.
His hands trail all over my legs, kneading, massaging, scratching, all while he gently delivers ecstasy through velvety swirls on my clit.
The muscles in my thighs and chest and abdomen tighten so much that a tremble scampers through me.
“I’m close, Ty. So close.” The declaration stumbles out in a clumsy, airy mess just as pounding thumps crash into the door.
“Rena? Get the fuck out here!” Ryker yells, his thundering tenor rattling the entirety of the small space.
Mood killer.
While the sound ricochets through my brain, shocking me into returning to the predicament, Ty is unfazed. Zeroed in on his work.
“My brothers are outside the door,” I whisper-yell. “Let’s resume later.”
“Fuck them,” he mutters, barely coming up for air. “I’m eating.” His eyes lift to mine, creased with haughty mirth, as his lips feather against my clit. “It’s rude to spoil someone’s dessert.”
Valid point. Dessert should be savored. And I can’t deny this is one hell of a treat.
The knocks continue.
Ty smiles against me with a stilted chuckle that fans warmth over my center and my thighs, sprouting bumps on my stomach and limbs. And as I lift up onto my elbows to see him better, it’s clear his grin is partly demented, which, for some reason, is an absolute turn-on.
He’s more complex than I realized. And a little unhinged.
His scruff scrapes over my skin with a titillating bristle. “Tell them you’ll becomingin a minute.”
