Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(114)

Avoiding those blazing, intense eyes, she returned her attention to his abdomen, lingering over the flat washboard length of his belly. Her teeth scraped, followed by the soothing swipe of her tongue and suckle of her lips. With each caress, his flesh twitched beneath her mouth. Imperceptibly, the hand between her thighs gravitated upward until it pressed with flaming insistence against her wet, throbbing core. With each swipe of her tongue or nip from her teeth, a corresponding series of tingles spread from her core, into her belly, and down her legs.

Instinctively, she opened her legs wider and rocked against his fingers, silently encouraging his exploration. But his hand just lay there absolutely still, a sizzling, erotic distraction.

Scraping her teeth down his belly to suckle at his hip, she tightened her grip around his erection and increased the up-and-down slide of her hand. A groan broke from him, much thicker and raspier than before. The sound shot off an avalanche of satisfaction throughout her. He didn’t try to hide his reactions from her. Didn’t pretend her touch didn’t affect him, deeply. He was so completely open about the way she made him feel.

A sense of power flooded her—of confidence. It was a heady combination and one she intended to explore in length and depth . . . after she finished idolizing his body.

By the time she reached the rigid jut of flesh claimed by her fingers, he’d stopped breathing entirely. The hand melting the flesh between her thighs sat there absolutely still, as though he didn’t want to distract her.

Nibbling her way across his hip and up his penis, she replaced the long, firm slide of her hand with the long, wet glide of her mouth and tongue. He tasted salty and earthy and absolutely delicious. She managed two lingering trips from the bulbous head down to the thickened trunk and the soft, warm globes before he broke. Dragging her up and over him, he nudged her legs apart until she straddled him.

The hand between her thighs stroked up, delicately parting the folds of her sex to rub repeatedly against the wet, swollen folds. Her breath clotted in her chest. Quiver after quiver shook her as his finger rubbed its way to the little knot of nerves. Her * tightened and swelled, moistening with urgency.

Straightening, she arched her back and clenched her legs as fever exploded through her, rippling through muscles and veins, cinching every nerve tight, feeding the urge to bear down and take him inside.

She needed him inside her, filling her, completing her.

A finger slipped into her, stroked her once, and pulled back out. She felt the bulbous head of his penis replace his finger. And then he was pushing inside her. The hot, thick length of him filling her, stretching her, binding her to him in the most primitive way possible.

She froze above him, straddling his hips, savoring the hot thickness of him stretching her. The sense of fullness. Of throbbing heat. Of coming home.

The brilliant blue eyes holding her gaze flashed as he stirred restively beneath her. His face tightened with urgency. “Come on. Darlin’, you’re killin’ me.”

She stared down at him, at the primitive hunger stamped so clearly across his face. And a dense molten pressure settled just below her belly. Tingles prickled up her spine and down her legs. Slowly she pushed herself up with her knees, rising steadily until the thick length of him almost slipped out of her, before bearing down again, taking him back inside.

He groaned, arching his hips to meet hers, his head pressed back against the pillow. Rough hands latched on to her hips, lifting her and then dragging her back down. The liquid pressure in her belly coalesced, contracting into a tight ball of raw throbbing. She moved faster, her breath trapped in her chest, her eyes blurring, the heat rising so fast and stifling she felt ready to burst into flames.

Vaguely, she was aware of an infinite litany of guttural groans echoing in her ringing ears, but she wasn’t sure whether they came from her or the man arching into her.

One of his hands dropped from her hips and slid between her thighs. It found the tight bud of her sex and rolled it between his fingers. White-hot lightning speared from his fingers into the throbbing ball in the pit of her belly. She arched and bore down, screaming as the pressure exploded. Tingles swept up and out, morphed into shudders that ripped through her body from toes to scalp.

As the tingles and shudders engulfed her, liquefying muscle and bone, she was vaguely aware of movement, of rolling. And then Rawls was above her, the heavy muscles of his shoulders bunched, his face taut, neck corded as he thrust into her.

She focused on the flushed rigidity of his face, the blind urgency in his eyes, and the tingles exploded again, sweeping through her with even more force than before. As the tingles reached her head, white static took over her mind and then she was flying and crashing, his raw, breathless shout echoing in her ringing ears.

What might have been a millennium later, she returned to awareness under the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

“What?” she asked.

Since opening her eyes was too much effort and her limbs had fallen into that post-gratification lethargy and refused to move, she sighed with contentment and cuddled into the sweaty masculine body splayed out beneath her. He must have rolled them again while she was out of it. As beds went, he was hard and narrow and hot and altogether perfect.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice raspy and strangely solemn. Fingers slid through her hair, untangling the strands before trailing down her face to cup her cheek. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”