No Perfect Hero(63)

It’s like full-body foreplay with contact and caresses.

Every inch of his muscular frame stroking over me. Every curve of my body sliding against his until I feel sparks shooting everywhere. And those sparks rouse into flames as he nips my mouth, teases his way inside, curls his hands against the back of my neck and fists my hair and draws me in deep.

“Warren,” I gasp, raking my hands down his chest, catching his shirt, tugging it.

God.

I want skin. I want his tempered bronze, writhing muscle and wild ink hot against my palms, and he shudders under me like some huge machine with its engines grinding into overdrive.

“Fuck,” he whispers on my lips, settling his hands on my hips, holding me still when all I want to do is rock against his bulge until something inside me finally snaps. “You want me in you, Hay?”

My mouth goes dry, but I can’t deny it.

I break back from his lips, looking down at him, then nod slowly, breathing out a shy but completely certain “Yes.”

The way he looks at me then...holy hell.

It’s like he’s never seen me before, not fully, but what he sees now holds him spellbound.

I’m almost worried with the deep intensity of it, the way he seems to take me in.

But then I’m torn from that trembling moment when Warren abruptly heaves under me. And I squeak as his arms come around me, lifting me up against his chest as he stands, caging me inside all his broad muscle.

I'm safe and sheltered and burning apart as he carries me from the living room.

We barely make it into the bedroom before the frenzy comes.

Him tearing at my clothes. Ripping away my tank top.

My bare breasts spill free, aching to the touch, my skin so sensitive I cry out and toss my head to one side as he skims his fingers over their curves and traces patterns against my skin. He’s so heavy over me, this dark thing blocking out the light and capturing me in his shadow, making me his prisoner.

Making me a prisoner, too, to the raw sensations rushing through me.

Warren slowly circles his fingertip over one nipple, then the other, the rough texture of his finger painting heat against my skin and making me writhe, sliding my thighs together.

I’m already so wet for him, so desperate, and I want to beg – but I can’t find my voice to do anything but gasp, whimper, and moan as he gives me the barest taste of what I’m craving.

I’m almost too ready for it when he slides down my body.

My stomach quivers with the rasp of his beard on my skin and the sweet press of his lips below my navel. He’s quick to strip my shorts away, even quicker to toss my panties aside – yet there’s a moment as his fingers slide down, feeling how wet they are.

His eyes kindle bright, sparking and knowing, and he smiles slowly as he presses his mouth to the damp spot, breathes in, eyes narrowing, before he tosses the scrap of fabric aside to leave me naked for him.

Open to his every assault.

I’ve never felt so conquered by a gentle touch.

My body responds like lightning to the slightest graze of his fingers against my folds, the lightest trace of his thumb against the throbbing heat of my clit, the softest caress of a searching, knowing tongue.

I'm electric and he's the wire. Guiding, shaping, owning.

He torments me, rocks me, crashes me in waves of deep pleasure that strike me so hard it hurts.

They make me shake and quiver and roll.

I have no shame. None whatsoever as I spread my thighs and let him stroke me, taste me, lick and swirl and caress with the rough flat of his tongue.

Then I'm just gone, a mess of shaking legs and shallow breath.

His tongue comes faster, thrusting up inside me, giving that empty ache in my cunt some relief, that feeling that begs for something more.

I can't take much more.

I can't.

Between his tracing, relentless tongue and his slow-thrusting, thick, coarse fingers, I’m a mess, dripping, curling my toes against the sheets, digging my fingers in his hair.

I'm already lost to myself and the world as I arch my back, sucking in my stomach, trying not to spontaneously combust.

Is that a thing? Can sex be so powerful it turns a person into a little pile of ash?

With him, it's a big fat maybe.

And when he stops...when Warren stops as I'm right-on-the-edge, I almost break like never before and beg him to fuck me.

He’s right there with me, watching with smoldering eyes as he unzips his jeans, baring his cock.

Soon there's a new reason to gasp.

Huge is a glaring understatement. What he's holding is thick, hard, dense. A line of pearl leaks out the tip onto his palm, and I only have a moment to glimpse it before he rubs the slick, flared head against my folds.

“Pill, darlin'?”

“Wh-what?” I can't even think, much less form sentences.

“You on the pill or something, or do I break out a damn rubber?” The damn rubber part sounds more like something he spat.

“Yeah. I'm good. We're good. Warren...please.”

Relief fills his eyes. He bends down, burying me in another sultry kiss, the heat of his cock returning to my labia, my wetness, my clit.

“Good. Now I'm gonna fuck you so hard you forget Eddy Fuckface ever existed.” His growl is a promise.

A second later, his dick drives deeper, parting me, spreading me open, making me jerk with the sudden sharp feeling of heated flesh stroking me from the inside out.