Another low laugh rumbled but dissolved as she dragged her fingernails up and down his back, marking him.
August sucked a sharp rasp of air into his lungs.
“Who is it you want, Meghan?”
While he lapped her honey, he reached up and filled his hands with her breasts.
“Mmm,” she keened. “You.”
His ballocks gathered tight.
It could not be just him caught in this conflagration. If he was to be destroyed, he’d have her catch fire with him.
Groaning like the wounded animal she’d turned him into, he applied himself even more to his efforts.
“Who do you need?”
Every breath he took scraped his chest and throat raw.
“Oh, August. It is you. Only you,” she whispered. “Please.”
A flood of wetness rushed into his mouth.
He stopped with a brutal abruptness that wrenched a sob from deep inside her soul.
“More. I want to hear more from you, Meghan!”
A savage glint lit his eyes.
“Say the words.”
“I want you to kiss my cunny,” she cried, stripped bare.
“Ahh. You are magnificent,” he extolled.
Meghan lifted her hips.
Sweat fell from his brow and struck hers.
“You love praise,” he said between heaving breaths. “You deserve praise.” Culross kissed the inseam of her thigh. “My treasure.” He bestowed the same benediction upon the other. “My goddess.”
With each one, a shiver moved through her.
He lay his cheek to the creamy expanse of her thigh, absorbing each convulsive tremor. “My queen.”
He filled his hands with her bottom, massaging the supple orbs, commanding her gaze. “My countess. My wife.”
Meghan struggled onto her elbows; her hair hung in a brown and auburn-streaked waterfall about her shoulders; the long lustrous locks fanned her chest; her pink areolas peeked through.
He sucked in a shaky breath at the sight of her.
Culross seated himself between her legs.
“Who else makes you feel the way I do?”
“Only you,” she said, her voice catching.
“Say it is me and only me who can give you what you need.”
