“I know,” I whispered.
A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. “Good.”
His head dipped. He didn’t kiss my mouth. He kissed the center of my chest, between my breasts, then lower, his lips and tongue painting a wet, hot trail down my sternum, over my quivering stomach. He nuzzled his face between my legs, inhaling deeply, and the groan he let out was purely animal.
“Holy shit,” he muttered against my skin. “You smell like me now.”
The filthiness of his words, the raw possession in them, made me moan. My legs fell open of their own accord, a silent, desperate invitation.
He didn’t need another. He settled between my thighs, his shoulders pushing my legs even wider, opening me up completely to his gaze, his touch, his mouth. The vulnerability was absolute, and it set every nerve on fire.
“You have me spinning because I want to unleash every filthy thing I ever thought about you,” he breathed, his thumb coming down to part my folds. I was swollen, glistening, utterlyexposed. “Just so you know how deep I feel you. How bone-deep you are inside of me.”
He leaned in and licked, not a teasing stroke, but a long, flat, possessive lap from my entrance all the way up to my clit. I cried out, my hips jerking off the bed.
“Uh-uh,” he chided softly, his hands sliding under my ass, lifting me, holding me in place for his mouth. “You stay right there and take what you asked for, Pip.”
And then he began to feast.
This was nothing like before. This was filthy, graphic, and utterly relentless. He ate me like it was his request, with a focused, obscene dedication to my clit and the drenched hole below. His tongue speared inside me, fucking in and out in shallow, rapid thrusts, the wet, slick sounds obscenely loud in his room. He sucked on my inner lips, pulling them into his mouth with a soft pop before diving back in. He circled my clit with the very tip of his tongue, so fast and light it was maddening, before flattening it and applying brutal, perfect pressure.
“You taste like sugar wrapped in sin,” he groaned against me, his breath hot. “You wanna come again, don’t you? You’re clenching on my tongue, begging for it.”
“Yes,” I sobbed, my hands fisting in the sheets. “Please, Cade, please, I need—”
“You need my cock,” he finished for me, his voice muffled against my flesh. “You need this fat fucking dick splitting you open again. I know. I can feel it. Your little pussy is pulsing for it.”
This side of him was unlike any side I had seen yet. The pushed-too-far side maybe, but I was so spun out he only made it hotter. Made me feel like he was worshiping me out loud with every filthy word he confessed.
He added a finger, sliding it deep inside me alongside his tongue, curling it. The dual sensation, the stretch, the pinpoint pressure—my vision spotted. He added a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching me further, preparing me for what was to come.
“Gonna fuck you so deep, Pip,” he promised, his words a hot promise against my clit. “Gonna plant my cock so deep in you nothing else will ever fit. You’ll feel me in you for days. Every time you walk, you’ll remember my dick fucking you until you are raw.”
The graphic imagery, the crude, possessive words, were the final key. The coil, wound so impossibly tight, shattered. My orgasm ripped through me with a violence that stole my voice. It was a silent, screaming convulsion, my body bowing off the bed as my ribs screamed in protest I just didn’t give a shit about. He held me fast, his mouth locked on me, drinking every pulse and shudder, his fingers working inside me, prolonging the waves until they were almost painful in their intensity.
I collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. Whether from him or the pain, I didn’t know and didn’t care. He rose above me, his face glistening with my arousal. He looked feral, satisfied, and so fucking turned on it was a wonder he hadn’t come just from watching me fall apart.
He didn’t give me a second to recover. He positioned himself at my entrance, the broad, slick head nudging against my sensitized flesh. My inner muscles, still fluttering from the climax, clenched around him instinctively.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
I forced my heavy lids open. His eyes were black with need, fixed on mine.
“I have never wanted anything—in my fucking life—like I want you, Pip,” he stated, and began to push inside.
It was a different kind of stretch this time. I was swollen, sensitive, hyper-aware of every millimeter of him as he filled me, slowly, inexorably, until he was buried to the hilt. The feeling of being so completely impaled, so owned, after the intimate violation of his mouth, was overwhelming. A broken whimper escaped me.
He stilled, fully sheathed. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Okay?” The single word was strained, torn from him.
“More than okay,” I breathed. “You feel… you’re everywhere.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He began to move, and it was nothing like the careful, measured pace from the kitchen. This was a claiming. He pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in with a force that jolted me up the bed, a deep, grinding thrust that rubbed against a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“Oh! Cade!”
“That’s it,” he growled, setting a ruthless, pounding rhythm. “Take it. Take all of me.”
