Page 92 of Lovely Venom

My gaze drags over him, mapping every inch of his frame as he removes his unbuttoned shirt and casts it aside.

This man was made for sin. Tall, broad, and packed with muscle, he leaves me little choice but to stare. There’s no question he’s worked hard for his body, and it seems the least I can do is appreciate it.

Bracing one knee on the mattress, he eases himself over me and adjusts my bracelets, securing them in front of me. Pushing my arms up overhead, he pins my wrists to the mattress and issues a gruff command.

“Spread your legs.”

My body obeys before I can even rationalize it.

This is what he does to me. He makes me want to please him, and I know nothing pleases him more than when I let go of my inhibitions entirely.

Shifting his weight, he settles his body between my thighs, the heavy length of his cock falling across my abdomen. His heat presses against me as he teases his lips along the soft dip of my inner elbow, sending a shiver through me.

Holding me captive, he grazes that sensitive area with a languid kiss, then catches the skin between his teeth and tugs.

The shock of pleasure ripples through me, and it only intensifies as he trails a path down my arm, nipping and kissing as he goes.

When he reaches my throat, the biting gets rougher, his teeth scraping over me as he sucks my skin into his mouth and tastes me.

It’s feral, territorial, and so hot, I can’t stop squirming beneath him.

I start pleading, for what, I’m not even sure. It just feels like the thing to do when he’s melting my brain.

His head dips lower, lips tracing over my collarbone before he licks my nipple and sucks my breast into his mouth.

A strangled cry lodges in my throat as I arch into him, every nerve in my body reawakening. My natural instinct is to thread my fingers through his hair, but I can’t because he has my wrists trapped. So I tip my head back and bite my lip as he continues his leisurely exploration.

Between long, slow pulls of each breast, his tongue lashes my nipples, and he bites at the delicate skin around them.

A deep, consuming ache settles between my thighs as I roll my hips, desperate for the friction of his cock. But before I can even get a good feel, he releases my wrists and reaches down, tracing the curve of my face.

“Patience, gattina.”

“Gattina?” I ask breathlessly. “What does that mean?”

He grazes my abdomen with his lips, kissing his way down my body until his head settles between my legs.

Gripping my thighs with two large palms, he spreads me open and lets out a rough sound of satisfaction as he takes me in.

“It means this pussy is mine.”

Before I can even comprehend that sentence, he dips his head and gives me a long, slow lick.

My spine bows as I shudder out a breath, and his palm presses me back into the mattress.

“Hold still and let me enjoy this,” he rasps.

When he buries his face between my thighs with a groan, I realize he means that.

He’s not just doing this to make me come. He’s tasting me like a man who’s been starving for it.

Lapping at me with slow, hungry strokes, he leaves me begging for more. But every time I even think about moving my hips, he presses me back down and continues at the pace he sets.

It’s an agonizing crawl toward release as pressure builds inside me.

It only gets more torturous when he leaves me on the edge, kissing my inner thighs and lazing around like he has all the time in the world.

His name falls from my lips on a plea, and in response, he bites and sucks that tender skin into his mouth, branding me with his teeth.