Blood to Dust(46)

My nails are already digging into the flesh of his lower back, squeezing out the scent of his manhood and sweat—sweet and sour and animalistic.

“We’ll f*ck, then we run away?” I pant.

“We’re not running. Running is for pussies. We do this shit in a stride.”

He marches the short distance from the narrow corridor to his small room, which I’ve never seen before, and bangs the door shut, me still on his shoulder. Before I know what’s happening, he throws me onto his bed like a ragdoll and looks down at me, still standing.

He’s huge.

Tall.

Tatted.

And completely stunning. This is not the first time I’ve gotten into bed willingly with a man since I ran away from the Archers, but it’s the first time I’m scared about how I’m going to leave it once it’s over.

Before Nate, I had sex to prove to myself that I could still feel.

But with him? I’m going to have sex and convince myself that I don’t.

“You’re beautiful,” I say breathlessly.

“You’re safe,” he answers reassuringly. Exactly what I needed to hear.

“Make peace to me, Beat.” I call him by his nickname purposely, my smile sly and cunning.

“Make f*cking storm to me, Pea,” he says, doing the same.

He dives onto the bed on top of me, grinding his huge, scary hardness against my body. My legs spread on cue. Know that old cliché you read in romance books, Our bodies were made for one another? Well, that’s not the case with Nate and me. My body was made for an average-sized man, while his would be more fitting for a 6’2” Viking girl, or a full-grown elephant. He’s so much bigger than me, but it works. For us, it’s perfect.

His puffy, swollen lips find mine. Warm, fierce and comforting. I should probably close my eyes like he does, but I can’t, still crippled by his good looks. I watch him wide-eyed as our kiss deepens and his tongue attacks mine, his body grinding against my own. I gaze at him, mesmerized, as I feel his needy erection poking between my thighs, barely contained by his jeans and boxers. The bastard doesn’t have any bad angles. At all. He must’ve spent all his years in jail walking with his back pressed against the wall.

His fingers spread my thighs open roughly, and my dress rides up past my chest. His mouth sucks on my right nipple long and hard, teasing it with lazy circles he creates with the tip of his tongue. Then he pulls my panties down with one tug and slides his index finger inside me. Nate is so huge, his finger is probably the size of a typical cock. Simple math: Two fingers = Two cocks.

His finger pulls out of my folds and drags my wetness along with it. We both watch in awe, eyes half-closed under the mist of lust.

I never get wet anymore. Only for him, I do.

He uses my wetness and rubs the same finger around my clit, my head falls to his cheap, flat pillow.

“No hourglass in here, Pea. With me, we take our time.”

“Yes,” I groan.

“Yes,” he repeats with conviction as he starts rubbing my clit up and down, his tongue striking mine like it’s trying to punish me. “Fuck.” Kiss. “You.” Bite. “Godfrey.”

I smile into his mouth and reach for his cock, the sound of his zipper rolling down is the only thing audible other than our moans in the murky room. “Fuck.” I grab his junk in my hand. “You.” I move my palm up, rubbing the tip, then slide the pre-cum along his shaft. “Camden.”

“Fuck them,” he concludes, reaching back and yanking his shirt up over his head and throwing it to the floor. His tongue finds my neck, swirling downwards in swift movements.

“Fuck them,” I agree, letting him slide my dress up as he undresses me, toss it on the floor next to his jeans, and watch his head travel south.

He French kisses my inner-thighs, his warm tongue dancing in passionate circles around my hypersensitive flesh, only hovering over my folds, but never touching. Circling, applying pressure, then biting softly. He’s giving every valley and curve in the area special attention, and I begin to spasm, rocking myself against his face, completely possessed. Nate’s tongue hasn’t even touched my sex yet, it’s still licking my thighs, biting my flesh. . .but I’m already well on my way to a furious orgasm. I’m quaking all over, thrusting myself into his face, begging him to put me out of my misery. When he does, when his beautiful, hot mouth closes on my clit, his rough palms nail me to his bed and he doesn’t let me move.

“Fuck Sebastian.” He pulls my clit between his perfectly straight teeth and I actually throw my fists on his shoulders because the orgasm is too much. I’m losing control over my body, my muscles, my skin, even my bones. My hips move erratically to the rhythm of his mouth. Every time he speaks, his charged breath tickles me from the inside, making every inch of me tingle with pleasure. “And f*ck the Aryan Brotherhood and f*ck San Dimas and f*ck this world. We’re getting outta here.”

I explode in pleasure and jerk back and forth on a scream. He finds out just how hard I come by pushing his tongue deep into my channel, meeting the warmth trickling out of me in a wave of satisfaction. He swirls his tongue inside me, licking up every drop of my want for him.

Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he starts f*cking me with his tongue, completely disregarding my current physical state as a human pond of hormones.