Roar (Stormheart #1)(109)
The light brushes of her mouth were as maddening as they were euphoric. He wanted her with a desperation he had never experienced. He tried to pace himself, tried to let her hold the reins. He focused on familiarizing himself with every part of her he could reach. He dragged his hands up from her hips, learning the softness of her waist and the valley of her spine. He traced his fingers along the paths between her ribs, pushing beneath his heavy leather jacket to touch the twin wings of her shoulder blades. He thought he could touch her for years on end and never know her as well as he wanted to.
When he smoothed his hands over her sides, venturing near the curve of her breasts, she inhaled sharply against his lips. He paused, unsure if he was crossing a line. He waited for her to say something, but she remained still above him, her eyes squeezed shut and mouth still open on a gasp. Then, ever so slowly, she arched her body, turning so that his right wrist grazed her chest and the heel of his hand continued over her curves. He took that as permission, learning the shape of her there too, and when she exhaled on a moan, he lost the battle with his desperation.
He rolled, pressing her back into soft soil, and crushed his mouth against hers. Her response was equally feverish and frantic. Her fingers pulled at his hair, and her knees surrounded his hips, nestling him deeper against her. She arched up into his hand again, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth as he gave her the contact she wanted. The contact they both wanted. His other hand trailed down to one of the thighs hooked around his hips, and when he touched her bare skin, her teeth caught his bottom lip.
He groaned, sinking his hand beneath the tunic she wore, his tunic, until the perfect curve of her bottom filled his hand. She surged up against him, hips mashing against hips in a way that made him break their kiss and drop his head to the hollow of her throat to catch his breath. Her hands left his head to run down his back and then up again, and he covered her pulse point with his mouth, feeling the wild, rapid reminder of her vitality against his lips and teeth and tongue.
She moaned, and the sound burrowed beneath his skin, burning him up with want. Their hips began to rock—slow and subtle at first. But as he covered her neck with kisses and teasing nips of his teeth, she began to pull his hips down with her legs at the same time that she lifted her own hips up. It was torture and bliss all at the same time.
From beneath the thin fabric of the tunic, a blue-white light flickered with increasing intensity. He pulled back, watching that pulse of light with both wonder and trepidation. He slid his hand up from her chest to the neat row of buttons at the top of the tunic. Giving her plenty of time to protest, he undid the buttons gradually until the top of the tunic was loose enough that he could ease it down to reveal the light branching out over her chest. It streaked up to her collarbone and across to her sternum and over the slope of her left breast. The tempo of the flashes increased as he stared at her, and he could not help but lower his mouth to experience the marvel with more senses than just sight. He closed his eyes, and the beat of her heart lit up the black behind his eyelids.
Again and again, he followed different bolts of light with his lips, racing in an attempt to keep up. Sometimes, the action made her laugh, shivering as if the quick glide of his lips tickled. Other times she clutched his shoulders and held her breath, especially when he traversed the slope over her breast and the valley in the middle. He forgot about racing the light in those places and took his time, letting the light come to him again and again. Soon, she pulled his head up from her chest, and he went with a growl that she soothed with the softest, sweetest kiss he had ever received. Against his mouth, she whispered, “I’ve never—You … you are the first.”
He loosened his hold on her body and tried not to jump to conclusions. Lifting himself up a little, he braced his weight on his elbows and asked, “First what, princess?”
Her eyes were wide, worried almost, as she answered, “First everything?”
He thought back to the first time he’d kissed her—hard and angry and demanding. He felt the sudden urge to worship her lips, to worship all of her to make up for his mistakes.
He covered her cheek with his hand and trailed a thumb down to her mouth, over the reddened curve of her bottom lip. He felt far too much satisfaction that these lips had never known another pair but his.
He leaned down to nip at her swollen bottom lip. “I’m the first to touch this mouth? To taste it?” Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her blue eyes flashed with heat. She nodded, her tongue darting out to soothe the skin he had tugged between his teeth. “That means it’s mine. My territory. And I’m prepared to protect it, every hour of the day if I must.”
Those lips that were now his tipped up in a smile. “That’s very dedicated of you.”
There was still so much he wanted to know about her. But he didn’t want to assume that because she kissed him, she trusted him. He finally had her in his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away.
Her long fingers rubbed at the corner of his jaw, down the side of his neck, and slipped along the collar of his shirt.
“I want you to show me,” she murmured.
“Show you what?”
She smiled again. “Everything? Show me what you said before.”
“You mean that I love you?”
She nodded, her grin widening. “Yes. Show me that.”
He groaned and leaned down for another quick taste of her lips. He wanted to give her what she asked. He would love nothing more than to spend the next few hours explaining in explicit detail with his mouth and hands just how beautiful he found her.