She squeals with surprise and laughs, steadying herself against the wall with one hand and her other in my hair. I press forward, tongue delving, tasting her like a starved man.
A moan tears from her throat, raw and echoing around us. Her thigh trembles against my cheek. The green mark around her wrist flickers brighter as if it’s catching up to her racing pulse.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, tightening her fist in my hair.
“Wasn’t planning to.” I swipe my tongue over her center. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Her soft laughter morphs into a satisfied hiss of pleasure.
“Be as loud as you want,” I say. “I own the whole building.”
“Stop stopping,” she scolds in a shaky voice.
Laughing, I bury my face against her, tongue licking, lips sucking. All of my attention narrows down to her movements and sounds. The arch of her hips, the way she grinds herself against my face, the sweet panting and moaning noises. Discovering all the ways Emery responds to my hands and mouth.
Another sharp cry bursts past her lips and she rests her hand at the back of my head, like she’s prepared to hold me where she needs me most. Her body quivers, then clenches tight. She shudders and shakes through her orgasm, low moans bouncing off the steam-clouded walls.
I ease her down slowly, kissing her inner thigh, then rising to meet her dazed expression. Water streams over both of us. She’s still panting and staring up at me with hazy eyes and a lopsided smile.
“Wow,” she whispers. “You’rereallygood at that.”
“Glad you approve.” I crank the faucet off, the sudden quiet amplifying our breaths.
I step out first, grab two towels, then offer her my hand to help her out of the tub. I sling my towel quickly around my hips and then wrap the other around her, briskly rubbing it over her arms.
She slips her hand into mine and I lead her back down the hallway to my bedroom. The door swings open on a room full of nothing but essentials—king-sized bed tucked tight, massive stone fireplace looming silent and cold, closet door cracked open enough to see nothing but a neat row of mostly black shirts, dresser, nightstands, artwork on the walls catching the faint hall light. Can’t remember the last time I had a woman in here and it shows, but at least there’s no rush to clean up or hide anything from her.
“That fireplace is beautiful,” Emery says, her voice soft compared to the patter of rain against the windows. “Does it work?”
“You still cold?” My plans to explore every inch of her body can wait a few more seconds if it means making sure she’s completely comfortable.
“A little.” She pulls the towel tighter around her.
“Go get under the covers. I’ll start the fire.”
A frown flickers over her face, but she rises on her toes, lips brushing my cheek in a graze that sends heat spiking down my spine. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
She crosses to the bed in a few steps, and I hurry to the fireplace. I drop to one knee at the hearth, the unforgiving stone cool against my skin. Kindling waits from earlier—twisted newspaper, brittle twigs, logs split and ready. Sulfur bites the air as I strike the match, flame hissing to life. I touch it low and fire catches fast, devouring the paper with sharp cracks, heatblasting my face. A jab with the poker, and the logs ignite, amber glow flooding the room, chasing shadows up the walls.
I turn, and there she is—kneeling at the bed’s edge, one of my blankets slung loose over her shoulders, parted just enough to bare her breasts, the dip of her stomach, her thighs in the shifting amber light from the fire.
“Absolutely beautiful,” I rasp. The fire pops behind me, its warmth following me across the room.
I slide a hand under the blanket, cupping her breast, thumb circling the tight peak of her nipple. “Thought you were cold?”
She arches into my palm and inhales a sharp breath. “I was. But then watching you start that fire like a big, sexy caveman got meveryhot.” As if she needs to prove it, she slides her hand down her stomach, dipping between her thighs, fingers teasing.
“No, you don’t.” I snag her wrist, halting her mid-motion, her pulse hammering against my grip. “All mine.” Quickly, I add, “Tonight.” So I don’t sound like a psycho planning to keep her chained up in my closet.
Her mouth curves into a sly tilt and she reaches for me, resting her hands against my chest—firm, warm, electric.
My thoughts fracture, breath stalling as she kisses along my collarbone, every nerve igniting. Her gaze pins me in place as she lowers her head and sweeps her tongue over one of my nipples, then the other. Our shared anticipation doesn’t need any words. She brushes her lips across my abs, tongue darting out only on bare skin, skirting the edges of ink like she’s mapping safe territory.
My thighs tense, breaths locking in my chest as she moves lower.
Emery
“Emery.” My name is a tortured groan on Declan’s lips.
