She tasted like sunlight and darkness. Purity and sin.
His salvation, his damnation.
With a growl, he licked and sucked. Thrusted and retreated. Teased and taunted. Worshipped and consumed. He couldn’t get enough of her. Of the wet tangle and slide of their tongues. Of her breathy moans and whimpers. Of the restless tightening and loosening of her hands on him.
“What are you willing to give me, Devon?” he asked against her mouth, repeating the same question he’d posed Saturday night.
Her lashes lifted, revealing her passion-glazed eyes. Her damp lips, already swollen from his kiss, trembled. And the sign of her vulnerability squeezed both his heart and his dick. He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, nipping lightly, and her ragged inhale rippled over his skin.
“What do you want?” she finally said.
“Everything,” he murmured. “I’m a greedy bastard. I want everything.”
Her eyes closed, and once more, the sweetness of her breath bathed his mouth, and he tasted her kiss. With a sigh that was part surrender, part need, she loosened her grip on him and slowly sank to her knees.
Shock and a desperate, tearing hunger ripped through him, leaving him in aching, conflicted shreds. Aching, because her hands fumbled with the band on his suit pants, releasing the tab and lowering the zipper. His flesh throbbed, damn near begging to be freed and touched, stroked...swallowed.
Conflicted, because he didn’t expect this intimacy from her. Didn’t want her to feel pressured to give it to him.
Even though, goddamn, he craved it. Had dreamed about just this.
“Devon, sweetheart.” He laid one hand over her hand at his zipper and cradled her cheek with the other. “You don’t have to do this.” He swept his thumb over her bottom lip, already seeing his cock weighing it down in his mind. Shaking his head, he briefly squeezed his eyes closed, his grip on her hands inadvertently tightening. “Let me—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” she said, sliding her hand out from under his...and gripping him through his boxer briefs. Stroking. A shiver worked its way through his body, his hips bucking into her grasp. He might come from that alone, that delicate little hand on him. “Iwantto. Are you going to let me, Cain?”
Sometimes, Devon appeared so damn innocent. And then there were other times, like now, when she transformed into a siren capable of luring him to crash against her. To come apart for her.
“Yes, I’m going to let you put your pretty mouth on me,” he said, slipping both hands into her hair, tunneling through the thick strands of heavy silk. “Undo me, Devon.”
She dipped her hand inside his underwear and cradled his hot, thick flesh. He hissed, his body locking up, going rigid. Pleasure pierced him like a scorching knife, cutting through him, laying him open to her eager touch and the excited glitter in those green eyes. With a low hum that he didn’t even think she was aware of releasing, she jerked his boxer briefs lower on his hips, fully exposing him to her hands, gaze anddamn, her mouth.
That beautiful, sinful tease of a mouth parted, slid over him, taking him inside. So wet. So warm. Sogood. She fisted the lower half of him, pumping while she tormented the top half with her lips and tongue.
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice the consistency of freshly churned gravel. “Open wider for me. Please.” Yes, he was begging and couldn’t care.
She did as he asked, and using his grasp on her head, he held her still and drove into her mouth, his hips rocking forward almost of their own accord. Reaching for the back of her throat on the smooth runway of her tongue. A familiar, but totally new sizzle zipped up his spine, then ran back down as his tip nudged that narrow channel. He groaned, gritting his teeth as she became a lightning rod for the pleasure rippling through him like an electrical current.
“No,” he growled to himself, jerking free of her. “Inside.” Cupping her under her arms, he yanked her to her feet, trying to be gentle, but undoubtedly failing. “I want to come inside you.”
In seconds, he had them on the couch, her panties in his back pocket, her straddled over his thighs and a condom rolled down his erection. Air powered out of his lungs in deep, serrated rasps, and he silently ordered himself to slow down, to not hold her so forcefully. To not bruise her with his barely tempered strength and lust.
Maybe it made him a caveman throwback, but he would take pride in marking her soft, golden skin with their passion. So when she looked at her body the next morning, she would know that for these few stolen moments, she belonged to him. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind that. But he didn’t want to hurt her. He’d rather cut off his hands first.
She shivered above him, her fingernails biting into him through his suit jacket. This might be the hottest encounter he’d experienced since he’d been introduced to screwing at sixteen. Both of them were still fully clothed, only her glistening sex, thick, gorgeous thighs and his dick were exposed. The redolent musk of their passion perfumed the air, their breath punctuating the silence.
“Are you going to take me in?” he murmured, the strain rippling through his muscles.
Please take me in, Devon.
The plea scraped at the back of his throat, but pride locked it away. Pride and fear of saying too much. Revealing too much.
With their gazes locked, she slowly lowered onto him, her flesh parting, quivering, adjusting...accepting.
Only when she was fully seated on him, squeezing him like a gloved fist, did she lean forward, press her lips to his and whisper, “Yes, Cain. I’ll take you in.”
A swell of murky emotion—light and dark, joy and pain, need and fear—coalesced in his chest, spinning out until it nearly swallowed him along with the teeth-clenching pleasure. Deliberately, he shoved everything down—everything but the pleasure. He let it bend him, consume him, as she slid up his dick, those tiny feminine muscles fluttering around him. He didn’t move, handing over full control, but his fingers dented her hips with the effort of not slamming her back down. And goddamn, did she reward him for holding off. She gifted him with an equally slow and torturous glide back down, dragging a long groan—hell, a stone’s throw from a whimper—out of him.
“Again, sweetheart,” he grunted. “I need more.” God, did she give him more.
