Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(68)

The world shifted and spun, pulling at her body. She barely noticed him bearing her down onto the bed. She was wrapped around him, tears spilling over. His pleading mouth called them forth like a fountain, a cleansing rush that left her fresh, clear, and still more desperate for his big body arching possessively over hers. Pinning her onto the bed while his mouth drew forth her soul and claimed it.

She gave it up so eagerly. As if to withhold it would kill her.

His lips moved down her throat, leaving a path like moonlight on water. Slid to her chest, cupping her breasts, lapping and suckling, and forget moonlight, it was the sun now, shining right out of her chest. She was blinded by the intensity, almost frightened as the light in her brightened, the sensation swelled, sharpened, and . . . what . . .?

Energy pumped through her, each jolt a blinding explosion . . .

When she came to, she shook. He was hugging her so tightly, air could barely enter her lungs. Ah. OK. An orgasm. A huge one. And he’d only been touching her breasts. Whoa. This really was a fun house ride.

As if that wasn’t enough, he rubbed his scratchy chin tenderly against her breasts, as if to console them for moving on, and slid lower.

She grabbed his face to stop his downward progress. “Stop.”

He lifted his head. “Why?”

She sank her fingernails into his big, muscular shoulders. “I’m not getting onfun house ride alone,” she said. “I want company.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He pushed her thighs wider, placed his palm over her *, cupping her pubic fuzz. “I’m right here for you.”

“No. I mean, I want it to be mutual.”

He looked distressed. “Aw, what’s with the complicated rules? Let me make you come a few more times before I go off the deep end, OK?”

“Let me touch you, too,” she insisted, still shoving.

He fought for a while but gave in with a growl of amused acquiescence. She spun around until they were sixty-nined, and there he was, in all his glory. That big cock, bobbing in her face, dripping precome. His earthy, warm male musk made her mouth water.

He waited while she got herself organized. It took some wiggling to find the angle. She needed both hands to handle him, and when she got down to it, he was so broad, velvety hot, rock hard. She gripped his shaft, feeling the veins taut and throbbing beneath her hands. Her hands tingled like sexual organs themselves as she went at him, lustily licking up every last salty gleam of precome, milking him to squeeze out more. Slow, swirling, tongue-lashing the head of his cock. Sucking him deeper as her mouth got used to his girth. She slid her hands up his stalk, fluttered her tongue. She could never get enough of making him quiver and groan and writhe. It made her feel powerful, like a goddess.

It made her feel . . . well . . . happy.

Happy? She had no business being happy. She was setting herself up to get her heart crushed under the wheels of a cement truck.

A stab of panic almost quenched her arousal, but Bruno wouldn’t let that happen, with his perfect instincts. He just put his head between her thighs, put his mouth to her, and proceeded to drive her wild.

She had to stop what she was doing, just lie back and gasp at the unbearable pleasure. His mouth moved tenderly over her clit, lips caressing, tongue plunging, swirling and trilling and sucking. Licking up her lube as if he were starving for it.

After a while, they found their groove, and she grabbed his hips and sucked him deep, her thighs wrapped around his head. She could sense the grin on his face as he licked and lashed at her. She, of course, didn’t have the luxury of a smile with that huge phallus to deal with. It was all she could do to accommodate him at all. But she managed.

They rode surging waves of voluptuous mutual pleasure, a perfect balance of power and trust, but he won the first round. He pushed her until she had to give in, sprawl back, and be washed tenderly away on wave after shining wave of surrender.

She drifted back through the rainbow haze of aftershocks and found him sitting cross-legged next to her, stroking her hair.

The look in his eyes scared her. It made her feel so raw. Hopeful.

“You’re so beautiful, when you let go,” he said.

She had to clear her throat before the mechanism would work. “Don’t get mushy on me, Ranieri. I’m not through with you yet.”

He grinned. “I should hope not. My head would explode.”

She gripped his cock, pulling him into her mouth again. Bruno wound the fingers of one hand into her hair and clamped the other around her hand where she gripped the base of his cock, his breath sawing harshly in and out of his mouth at each deep pull.

It didn’t take long. His balls tightened, his taste changed, and he exploded with hot bursts of energy, like light strobing against her eyes.

He shouted as heavy jets of come spurted out. Almost too much to keep in her mouth. She kept him inside until the last lingering pulses ended, and milked out every creamy drop.

He flopped down beside her. They stared at each other, speechless, in the flicker of the lamplight. Sounds of the night came to the foreground as her heartbeat slowed. The whoo of the owls, the crackle of the dying fire. The murmur and sigh of wind-tossed trees.

Bruno unwound himself and got up. He crouched to poke another couple of logs into the stove. Then he pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. He came back to bed, offering her the glass. She accepted it gratefully. He ran his fingers slowly through the fuzzy coil of hair that snaked over her arm as she drank.