She’s so pent-up that it doesn’t take long to have her trembling and chanting, “Oh, please, don’t stop … don’t stop … don’t stop, Axel.”
My name on her lips with such unadulterated hunger sets something off inside me. In both of us. She explodes, bracing her hands on the table and unabashedly rutting her hips against my face. And I grow into a barely controlled feral beast, afflicting her with a climax that seems to be tearing her apart from core to limbs.
She spasms and moans and fucks my tongue with a fearless mission. I ravish every drop, drinking from her like a man who’s been asleep for forty years.
“So pretty when you come for me,” I praise, but even as she floats down, squeezing her thighs against the sides of my face to halt my consumption, I don’t relent. I grant myself this—the flavor of everything that feels right, even though nothing is.
She groans, too sensitive, but it turns into climax-tipsy giggles and a distraction plan. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” I suck on her spent clit with a playful warning. “I’ll even consider answering.”
A throaty hum coasts out of her, part craving, part frustration. “I’m not pressuring or ruining the moment, but I’ve had a death-row kind of day, so everything feels … magnified.”
“That isn’t a question,” I remind her because she’s getting lost in the sensations that are no longer too sensitive, but are instead revamping her thirst.
“Does this mean we’re … together?”
“Not publicly,” I start, and I feel her flinch slightly, so I straighten with her arousal staining my face and our eyes hitched by the graveness of everything striving to split us apart. “There are hurdles we need to cross. You have to trust me. There are steps for how we do this, so … staying away from you is impossible, but—”
“I have another question,” she breaks in, not appeased by anything I said and too impatient to let me tell her what she means to me. “Why don’t you kiss on the mouth?”
I wasn’t expecting that, but maybe I should have. I’ve struggled more with not kissing her than I ever have with anyone else. I’m sure she could tell.
Bringing her back to my lap so she’s straddling me, I skate my fingertips over the supple curve of her thighs, take a deep breath, and swallow the insecurity this evokes. “Because my father forced me tobecome a manwhen I was fourteen. At Magie Noire with a woman he’d paid for.”
“Fourteen,” she parrots. Aside from a subtle twitch of her eyebrow, she keeps her reaction stolid, which I appreciate.
“Yes,” I confirm, not even caring much about it. Compared to other things he did, that was nothing. “My mother couldn’t do much to protect me. He was untouchable and had nearly killed her a few times. Anyway, she told me that the one thing no one would bother taking without my permission was a kiss, so I should save it. At first, it was powerful to withhold it. Then I was uninterested because no one seemed worth it. Eventually, it became the symbol ofwhat if. What if I found my person? Not that I was looking, but it was still there. If I did, I’d have something for just her.”
Her composure buckles, her plump lips popping open with shock, and those feline emeralds widen and frolic all over my face. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”
“Never.” And with my admission, I realize she isn’t just the object of my obsession or a woman I’m entangled with or even a person I’m willing to die for.
She’s mine. My purpose. My answer. My way out of the godforsaken flames that have engulfed me for the past nineteen years.
Knotting my hand in her hair, I brush my mouth against hers with the same precision and control I devote to everything, swiping a coaxing lick across the seam of her pillowy lips for her to open for me. She does, and I press deeper, exploring strokesthat feed the flavor of her cunt back to her. That alone has me spellbound, vibrating with a wolfish greed at the realization that she’s tasting herself.
But then she moans an airy, “More, Axel.”
And everything gets cloudy and impossible to grip.
When my tongue sweeps in deeper, tangoing with hers, she slants her head, rocks her hips, and pours everything she is into that simple kiss.
She tastes like cherries and deliverance, and something snaps inside me.
Something so feral, so unhinged, that I hardly recognize it. But I’m a slave to it. What started as sweet and tentative—a way to reassure her that she’s mine and I’m hers and we’ll find our way through this—transforms into a savage tethering of tongue and teeth and bites and groans.
I wrench her head to the side, exposing the hollow of her throat. My lips trail over her pulse point, licking, sucking, ravaging. Sinking my teeth into her molten skin, making her shiver. Until I’m back at her lips with renewed frenzy, and she matches my unleashed ferocity nip for nip.
“Fuck, Zara. Fuck. I need you.”
Without patience, I crash my lips to hers again, fisting her hair and dragging her bare pussy over my throbbing erection. My pants are already drenched from her, but now I’m fucking spreading her cum everywhere, unable to disconnect from her long enough to unsheathe my dick.
Who knew kissing was this good? Jesus.
She swiftly undoes my belt, tears my zipper down, unrolls the waistband of my boxers, and palms my length. All the air in my lungs puffs into her mouth with a string of curses. I rip down her top and bra, kneading her breast and tweaking her nipple, longing to touch every part of her, to wrap myself aroundher lithe frame, or crawl inside her, or liquefy her essence and consume her through an IV.
I’m too gone to share any of that, which is indisputably a gift, even if I did warn her that I was a lunatic regarding her.
