Page 23 of The Devil’s Feather

Self-doubt laughed at me. “Are you sure you don’t mind a stomach roll?”

“Who does not like a roll with dinner?” His dark purr shivered down my spine.

The insidious beast in my head refused to be silenced. “But-but I have violin hips!”

Rafael pressed a finger to my lips with an imperious glare. “Now you are insulting me. Are you implying again that I am unable to play the violin? Me? When I am already composing my next symphony for the exquisite instrument of your body?”

Damn, he’s good.

“No more of this.” He lifted the restraining finger to stroke it along my cheek. “Who taught you to find yourself unworthy?” Rafael shook his head sharply, tossing his hair. “You could just as easily decide I am not worthy of you. Shh, no. Maybe you do not like my face, or my scars, or my lack of a beard, or chest hair, or tattoos. Maybe I am too muscular. I have heard all of these things.”

“What? No, I’m so fucking attracted to you I can’t think straight.” I licked my lips. How had he so adroitly cornered me into accepting myself?

“Then listen to me. Your figure is delectable.” His eyes lingered on my chest again. “And you must think it too, or you would not have worn that sexy fucking dress yesterday. Cruel, testing my resolve to be respectful with so much cleavage. I wanted to bury my face in your tits the second I opened the car door.”

Was that why he’d acted strangely?

“Wow, you hid it well!” My entire pussy throbbed. Delirious, I arched my back. “Touch, kiss, get off on my cleavage, whatever you want. Make me yours.” I hardly knew what I was saying, but I endorsed it with my whole heart. “I want you so bad I can’t sleep at night.”

His palms easily covered my ample bosom as he experimentally hefted one breast, then the other. He caressed me through my sweater with gentle sweeps of his thumbs, teasing my nipples into hardening. Even with my bra as a barrier, my body yearned for him.

Rafael reached under my back and expertly unhooked the offending bra with one hand. I shimmied out of it, pulling the straps down my arms and whipping it off without lifting my cropped sweater. My nipples made peaks in the soft wool. Reverently, he plucked at them, teasing until I moaned.

When he bent and covered one with his mouth, I bucked beneath him. He sucked through the sweater, gently at first, and slowly increased the force, flicking my other nipple until I cried out and writhed. He took the lower hem of my top in his teeth, tugging at it with a questioning look. I ripped the sweater off over my head and threw it. Probably stretched it all to hell, but whatever. It was cheap.

Worth it to offer my flesh to the trickster god. The man with the devil’s feather⁠2.

Rafael licked slowly, reverently. He shifted from one bared nipple to the other, taking each one carefully in his teeth, rolling and tugging until I whimpered.

“You are so wet you have soaked through your jeans and my undershirt,” he murmured against my breast.

“Fuck what I said about going slow,” I hissed. “I had no idea how talented you are.”

“Shall we go to the bedroom? Much more comfortable.”

“Does it include taking clothes off? Because yes.”

Rafael sat back and peeled off the tank top. I reflexively wolf-whistled at the reveal.

A grin spread across his face. “I am perpetually dehydrated, so good to know I receive some benefit from it.”

Forget a six-pack. This man had a full on eight-pack and a distinct Adonis belt—the kind of muscle I’d only ever seen in pictures. A teasing trail of darker red hair on his lower abdomen drew my eye to the waistband of his pants. Fucking hell, the carpet does match. I’d be drowning in my own juices shortly if I didn’t do something drastic.

“Your body is unreal.” I swallowed hard. “Can I touch you? From the waist up, I mean?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It is only fair. Except for my throat, you may touch or kiss any skin I expose.”

I immediately smashed my face between his pecs, running my greedy hands over his sculpted abs and the impossible ripple of serratus muscles wrapping his ribs. He rumbled encouragement, wrapping his arms around me. I sighed at the vibration, kissing the center of his chest, arching my back to better press my breasts against him.

Biceps, pecs, and abs snared attention, but the serratus were the sexiest muscles. His were the most defined I’d ever seen. Rafael’s bare skin on mine threatened to short-circuit my brain.

I stroked his side, trying to come back down to earth. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“No. Do you?”

“A few little ones, but I want more. A red dragon on my left shoulder to celebrate when I published my debut, a blown-out Cancer symbol on my right ankle I got on my 18th birthday, and JRR Tolkien’s signature monogram on my low back.”

“You have a Tolkien tramp stamp?”