Pleasure crashed through her in violent waves. Her back arched off the mattress. Her hands finally released the pillows to tangle in his hair, holding him against her pulsing sex. His name tore from her throat, blending into wordless sounds of pleasure.
He kept licking, kept lapping as honey poured from her. He was relentless in his attack, never letting her come down, eagerly consuming every drop as if her pleasure were a gift he refused to waste.
When she finally lay boneless against the sheets, chest heaving, thighs trembling, tremors chasing through her body like nightingales shooting through the night, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.
Her body throbbed with a warm, satisfied pulse.
He pressed a kiss to her other thigh. Her hip. Her belly.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmured against her skin. “Biblical. Like the forbidden fruit of Eden.” Another kiss. “Like something only gods are meant to have.”
Daisy’s heart cracked open.
She glanced down at him, still between her spread thighs, and teased, “Maybe you are a god.”
He grinned, the sight so rare and brief, it took her breath away. Then he pressed his lips to her thigh, hiding his face from view.
Expression blank again, he turned to rest his cheek on her. His hair was disheveled, his lips swollen and glistening with her arousal. He appeared so peacefully satisfied, but something still glowed in his grey eyes—a hunger that hadn’t been sated. The bulge between his legs strained against the fabric, so rigid it had to be painful.
He’d given her everything, but taken nothing for himself.
Not fully understanding his boundaries, she shifted and slowly crawled toward him.
“What are you?—”
She silenced him with her mouth.
The kiss landed tentatively at first, then he tumbled her to her back, taking over, fierce and demanding. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it made her moan.
His control snapped, and he hauled her against his chest, rolling until she was on top of him, then beneath him again without ever breaking the seal of their mouths.
His erection ground against her, and she rolled her hips, dragging her wet sex along the hard ridge straining relentlessly beneath the fabric. His answering thrusts were almost violent as her arousal marked his pristine clothes.
She needed to touch him.
Her fingers found his shirt. Fumbled with buttons. One came free, then another, and her palm pressed flat against his textured chest.
Hot skin over hard muscle. A collision of raised scars and a scattering of hair that tapered downward. The wild thunder of his heartbeat pounded wildly under her palm—too fast, too hard, the rhythm of a man coming apart.
She kissed him harder, kept rolling her hips against his straining erection, kept pushing them both toward the edge of reason.
He pinned her with his weight. His hips drove against hers in grinding thrusts that made her moan, his clothed cock dragging through her slick folds, so close to where she needed him.
She needed more.
Her hand dropped between their bodies. Found the sleek buckle of his belt. Her fingers worked the latch free, slid down the zipper, pushed past the barrier of his briefs, and closed around his thick, throbbing length only to still when he made a sound like a dying man.
His hand clamped around her wrist in an unbreakable grip. Crushing. Forgetting about her burn as he tore his mouth from hers.
Her breath caught as his whole body went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked as he choked, “Timber.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Fall
Fear lurched inside of him. Reflected in her eyes as she gasped in pain. The shift was tangible and real. Trust vanished. Only ugliness remained.
Jack scrambled off the bed, and turned his back to her, needing a moment to collect himself. Her breath shifted like a blade in his ribs.
