Ever Night by Gena Showalter Page B

did. That gaze was as intent as a caress, lingering on her breasts, causing her nipples to pearl for him, then dipping to her thighs. “I don’t want to talk about the danger you placed yourself in. Not now.”
    Something had set him off. Something had shredded his control. She liked it, loved it, wanted it, but all that ferocity . . .
    â€œSpread your legs,” he commanded harshly.
    She trembled. “What’s wrong with—”
    â€œTalk after. Spread.”
    Seriously. What had come over him? she wondered, even as she obeyed. As she’d already learned, sometimes doing what he wanted paid off.
    He sucked in a breath. “You’re wet.”
    For you.
“Always.”
    His lips pulled tight as he reached out and ran a finger through her tiny patch of curls, then through her lips, then against her clitoris. “You’re mine.”
    Her back arched, and she had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing his wrist and holding his hand in place. “Y-yes.” She couldn’t deny it.
    He severed the contact, and she moaned. But then he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked, his lids dipping to half-mast. “You’re not going to leave this time.” A brutal command. “Not until we’re both sated.”
    â€œI’ll stay.”
    As if the admission broke him down into nothing but sensation, he ripped at his pants, kicked off his boots. When he was finally naked—gloriously, wonderfully naked—he pounced, diving on top of her. His weight crushed her, but she didn’t care. They were skin to heated skin at last, his long, thick erection rubbing against her core.
    His tongue thrust into her mouth, as demanding as his tone had been. Savage, showing no mercy, dominating. She loved it, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking and giving. One of his hands squeezed at her breast, his naughty fingers tweaking her nipple and shooting sharp lances of pleasure through her.
    She bent her knees, rubbing them against his hips, offering a deeper cradle for his penis. He didn’t take the hint. Rather than push inside her—even the thought made her moan—he inched down her body and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He played for a little while, teeth nipping, hands lowering, exploring, tracing over her core, but never actually touching. Mostly, he dabbled behind her knees, at her ankles, the curve of her ass after flipping her over.
    â€œVasili,” she moaned. The ache was consuming her, that ever-present ache. She was leaning into his every glide, trying to force him to head in the direction she wanted.
    He flipped her again and kissed a path to her stomach, tongue swirling in her navel. Her muscles quivered. He followed that quiver with his tongue, licking straight into her core. Finally, blessedly. A moan tore from her.
    The other day, she’d come and he hadn’t. She should be going down on him. “M-my turn to do that to you,” she rasped.
But don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
    He didn’t pause, just kept lapping at her, sucking on her clit, making her writhe and pant and pull at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, spinning her mind, flashing white lights.
    As she cried his name, he flipped them both over, and she found herself on top of him. His features were tight with tension. Seeing him like that, so aroused for her, had the ache roaring back to life as if she’d never climaxed.
    â€œStroke me.”
    She rose up and straddled his thighs. His erection strained proudly between them, and she wrapped her fingers around the thick base, gliding upward, engulfing the head and dampening her palm with the moisture beaded at the tip. “Like this?”
    His hips arched into her touch. “That’s good, but I want—”
    She didn’t let him finish. She bent down and sucked him into her mouth, until he