Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(49)

But he doesn’t spank me. He caresses, he squeezes, he caresses again and then he says, “You have a gorgeous ass, Myla,” in this sandpaper rough voice, I feel everywhere, inside and out.

I laugh, or whatever that sound is that slips from my lips. I don’t know what it is, or why it comes from my lips. Then I actually try to speak. “Kyle I-”

He cups my sex, fingers teasing the now sensitive, slick heat of my arousal. “I f*cking love how wet you are for me.” He moves then, in front of me again, his hands caressing my pants all the way to the floor before he lifts me and gets rid of them.

“Turn and face the wall for me again, sweetheart,” he orders softly, and only then do I realize that I’m holding his shoulders, leaning into him, not away from him, a detail that would seem normal to most. But to me, it’s a stunning sign of instinctual trust, especially when I thought I would never trust a man with my body again.

And that scares me. It makes me fear in that moment that I am wrong about him, and right to be guarded. Thus I do not turn. I ask, “Is this the vulnerable part? Your control, not mine?”

I expect some intense, manly demand, but his lips curve in a sexy, almost playful, smile. “Sweetheart,” he says. “This is the “I want to see your amazing f*cking ass” thing. And kiss it. And touch it. And there might be teeth. Now, if that’s a problem-”

I surprise myself and laugh for real this time, which is really quite stunning to me on all levels. “I have no idea how you just made me laugh.”

“It’s a gift,” he says. “Right along with picking the perfect pizza, though I have yet to prove that as true.”

“It is a gift, actually,” I say, “because I don’t…I haven’t laughed ever during a moment like this.”

“There are many first times ahead of us, Myla,” he promises. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

There is this silky tenderness to his voice that tightens my nipples and my sex, but also my chest. Emotions well up inside me, I don’t quite know or understand, and suddenly, giving him my back works for me. I inhale and do as he says, but instead of him just leaving me naked and uncomfortably facing the other way, he is suddenly on his feet, his big body once again enveloping mine, hard and powerful, his hands finding mine and pressing them to the wall. His alluringly spicy scent consuming me, seducing me. “I want you to keep your hands on the wall for me,” he instructs. “Don’t touch me. Let me touch you.”

“I want to touch you,” I confess. “Very badly.”

“And I want you to,” he says, “but right now, this is about you, not me.” His fingers flex at my hips, then caress down and over my backside, his mouth finding my shoulder at the same moment he cups my cheeks. Those teeth he’d promised to use, nipping the very edge of my back, and then trailing down my right arm. He shifts then, moving to stand at my hip, one hand possessively at my belly, the other on one of my butt cheeks. “I love how you smell,” he says, his breath a warm trickle on my cheek. “Like honey and sugar.”

“Amber,” I whisper, of the one thing from my past life I’d managed to keep. “It reminds me of the past.”

“It makes me want to lick you everywhere,” he murmurs, his voice taking on that gravelly quality again. “Can I lick you everywhere?”

“Only if I can lick you everywhere,” I say, loving that I feel free enough to say that to him, and more so, that I mean it. I want to lick every last inch of this man.

He leans in, bringing his mouth a breath from mine. “I can’t wait,” he says, sealing that promise with a deep, sultry slide of his tongue that has us both groaning when he pulls back, his forehead at the side of my head. “Did I mention you’re addictive?” he asks, his fingers just barely teasing one of my nipples, his other hand squeezing my backside again. “So f*cking addictive.” He plucks the nipple, sending darts of pleasure straight to my sex.

I arch slightly forward, panting as he continues the assault on my senses, tightening his grip on that stiff peak and tugging before gently caressing it again. This soft, hard, gentle, rough thing he does is driving me wild and my hands move further up the wall, allowing me to brace myself. He, in turn, moves further down my body, one of his hands finding my belly and then lower. And lower. His fingers slide back into the V of my sex, just barely flicking my clit before finding the wet seam between my legs, and stroking. My lashes lower, his touch grounding me in the moment, in pleasure. His fingers slide inside me, and at some point he has gone to his knees, his mouth, his teeth, at my hip. Still, those fingers dip deeper, the waves of tingling sensations managing to reach from my sex to my nipples and back down again.

And then he is gone, no longer touching me, leaving me gasping and weak in the knees. I want to turn, to call him back, but I never get the chance. He’s already in front of me, his back against the wall I’ve been holding, and I have no idea how or when, but he’s naked, the thick ridge of his erection at my hips, my hands now on his broad shoulders.

“No more barriers between us,” he declares softly, cupping my face and tilting my mouth to his. “And now, I need to taste you.” He kisses me, a deep, hungry kiss, before picking me up, my legs wrapping his hips as he adds, “All of you,” and carries me across the room, not to the bed, but to the living area in the corner, in front of the wall of windows.