The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(32)

At first, I had no idea what he was doing. I only felt a tremendous heat in my abdomen. But his efforts were of the more visually motivated variety. I looked down to see him singe my clothes, set them on fire, and watch them burn.

Flames licked up my skin, caressing it. Ashes that were once my sweater floated away in the acrid environment, leaving only flesh in its wake. He knelt and explored every inch of my exposed stomach with his mouth, his tongue tracing exquisite lines. My skin was still so hot that the wetness from his mouth evaporated, causing trails of smoke to rise off me.

I dove my fingers into his hair and laid my head back, reveling in the feel of his ministrations. Scorching. Blistering. Decadent.

The flames continued upward, baring more and more flesh, and with each newly freed centimeter came a rush of pain, a slight sting when my skin met the abrasiveness of this plane. And then his mouth was there. Cooling. Soothing. Bathing me in desire.

Before I knew it, Danger and Will Robinson lay bare. He locked his mouth onto Will’s nipple, his tongue feathering over her sensitive peak, as Danger spilled heavily into his palm.

His thumb brushed her nipple, and a jolt of arousal shot straight to my core, as though a string pulled taut connected the two. Its tug and release vibrated inside me every time he suckled the dark pink crest. Then he switched, his teeth grazing deliciously, hardening Danger’s nipple to a small, tight peak.

He moved one hand to the front of my jeans and began burning them away as well. The heat scorched my abdomen, both inside and out, as molten lava pooled between my legs.

I parted them. Just a little. Just enough to give him access as my jeans were slowly incinerated. He slid his fingers between the cleft, fondling, massaging, caressing before sliding them inside, deep enough for the promise of orgasm that lurked on the horizon to rush forward, growing closer with every thrust.

I gasped, taking in tiny sips of air as the sensual pressure rose higher and higher.

He lifted one of my knees over his shoulder, urging my legs farther apart, and pressed his mouth to my center. He parted the folds with his tongue, sliding it between them and feathering it over my clit. My body jerked involuntarily, the titillation exquisite.

The air in my lungs thickened in anticipation. I curled my fingers tighter into his hair, and he growled, the sound spiking my pleasure even further.

Every cell in my body sizzled with the searing heat swallowing me whole. Every molecule of blood boiled, expanding inside me, swelling until my skin was too tight for my body.

His own clothes burned away, the ashes floating on the wind. He locked his arms under my knees and rose, his torso sliding up mine, his forearms parting my legs even farther as my feet left the ground. Anchored against the boulder, he held me suspended in midair, his muscles contracted to a marble-like hardness, his erection pressing into the crevice between my legs.

He nibbled my neck, trailing hot kisses to my ear, each one causing a quake of desire to lace down my spine.

Then he entered me, slowly, so slowly, his erection filling me to exquisite totality. He pulled out until only the very tip of his cock remained inside, then he eased back in, the pace agonizingly calculated. He repeated the process, ever so slowly, until the orgasm lying in wait shivered with impatience, begging to be released.

His mouth still at my ear, he spoke, his voice deep and smooth and intoxicating. “Who am I?”

I shook my head, unable to stop what was coming. Begging it to hurry.

He pushed into me harder. “Who am I?”

“Reyes,” I said between gasps.

Bracing one of my knees with his hip, he grabbed a handful of hair in warning and said from between clenched teeth, “Who am I?”

I dug my nails into his steely buttocks, pleading with him to move faster. “Rey’aziel.”

He jerked my head back but didn’t increase his torturous speed. “Who am I?”

I grabbed handfuls of his hair as well. Squeezed tight. Jerked back. Then, refusing to give in, I said, “My husband.”

That surprised him. He tensed as his climax grew closer. I felt his as easily as I felt mine. The blood rushing through his veins. The spasmodic tightening of his muscles. The sweet sting of orgasm just over the horizon.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and locked my legs around his waist, clinging to him, encouraging him to let go. He braced his hands on the barrier behind us and tried to steady his breathing as his lower body rocked into mine.

It was enough. The slow throb pulsing through my body rushed forward and exploded inside me. I cried out as hot waves of pleasure spilled out and flowed over every inch of my skin.

Reyes wrapped his arms around me and sped up at last, increasing the euphoria already pulsating through me. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders. He sucked in a sharp breath and lost the fragile hold he’d had on his control completely.

He slammed into me, his thrusts long and hard and deep, until his body went rigid. He shook violently as his muscles strained, absorbing the crush of orgasm, the exhilaration of desire rushing through him.

The growl that escaped him, so primal and animalistic, caused another wave of elation to wash over me, and I clung to him, reveling in his climax.

When it was over, he kept me close, panting into my hair, until something changed. He tensed. Lowered me to the ground. Stepped away from me. Even the hot, acrid winds of this plane couldn’t prevent a chill from surging across my skin where his body had been.

I looked up at him in wonder. He seemed … surprised. Stunned. And a little angry.