Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(57)

He takes his time, slowly at first, teasing my lips, before his finger slowly enters me. I hear him gasp, see the slack expression on his face before it turns to a grin and he looks up before dipping down to suck lightly on my clit, and I groan and writhe on the bed. The heater is running too hard, it’s too hot in here. I’m sweating all over, between my shoulder blades, my chest, my forehead, under my arms. The heat grows with every touch, and every passing moment. I need more. As my arousal builds, so does his. I can feel it radiating off him, like heat. My body quivers around his finger, a shock of pleasure jolts down my legs and I curl up, biting down a little sound. Slowly, Victor rises, drawing his finger from my body. He rubs it on my lips and I taste myself on his skin, suck his finger. He lowers himself on top of me.

“You want me to eat you out until you cum,” he whispers in my ear, “Or f*ck you silly?”

My answer is a light tug on his cock with my fingers. It feels so good to touch him again, to feel his response. As he slides into me I watch the muscles of his back ripple. It’s a full body motion, his rod plunging into my wet sex, spreading my quivering walls, filling me. I groan and splay out on the bed, lazily holding him around the neck as he begins to thrust into me. He’s urgent at first, each pump building the pleasure, the fullness growing with each stroke, bigger, bigger, more, more, but then he slows, like he remembers how long it’s been and decides to savor me. When he slowly draws almost all the way out of me and slowly presses back in, shuddering with forced restraint, the pleasure is so intense it nearly hurts and I whimper and shudder under him, my muscles tensing with every jerk and shock of sensation that rolls through my body.

Then he settles on top of me and kisses me hard and deep, and I take him deep, his rod shifting inside me as he remains buried and rolls his hips. He rests his weight on me, buries his face in my neck, and his whole body trembles with anticipation. I rake my nails down his back, heat pulsing through me in slow throbs, spreading from between my legs to radiate down to my toes, down to my fingertips, swirl under my scalp. I’m sliding away on a tide of pleasure. My legs wrap around him and I pull him against me and a second dragging scratch on his back sends him into a sudden burst of energy, f*cking me hard and fast. I need it so bad. I clench around him, all my muscles going tight as taut wires. I whimper and plead in his ear, now, now, please, I want his pleasure as much as I want mine, just the idea of it will make me explode. If I go one more day frozen in ice, I’ll die.

Victor drives deep into me, pins me to the bed, and grunts in my ear. The grunts turn into a low, throaty moan, louder than he means it to be, breathy, then louder again as I feel him throbbing, finishing, and explode, thrashing under him. It feel so good the pleasure edges nearly into pain, and I dig my nails into his back and bite him, quiet now as pleasure wracks my body in shuddering, punishing waves. When it finally ends I go limp under him, spread out on the bed. He looks at the mark on his shoulder from my teeth and kisses me, hard. I feel wet on his back. I drew blood with my nails. He lays on top of me, in me, and doesn’t pull away.

This is being home. I’m home.

God, how could I ever have doubted him.

“Mine,” I purr into his throat. “Mine.”

Eventually, he pulls out of me and I scoot back on the bed to lay plastered to his side, wrapped in his arm. He breathes under me, his chest rising and falling in huge, muscular rhythm. He falls asleep and I could sleep with him like this, forever. I trace my fingers over the designs on his skin. Sometimes he stirs in his sleep, holds me a little tighter, then goes limp again as he falls deeper into sleep once more. By the time he wakes up again I think I’ve traced every feather incised on his skin twice. His eyes open and he looks at me and without a word, I slip down between his legs, my slick sweaty skin gliding over his, and take his cock in my mouth. I close my eyes and rest my head on his leg and let him harden slowly between my lips, tasting myself on his shaft. It doesn’t take long. A few flicks of my tongue and he stiffens again, groaning.

I take my time. He’s already cum inside me, so he lasts longer. The way he grunts and paws the sheets and tugs at my hair when I’m sucking him off makes me feel feral, sexual. I remember the first time I did this, I felt submissive, even a little dirty. Now I see with every movement how I own him. I was a fool to think he would step out on me. He wants this. After long minutes he’s sitting on, propped on his elbows, his whole magnificently muscled body gone rigid and tight, and as always he tugs at me a little. Always a gentleman, my Victor, trying to stop me before he finishes in my mouth. I don’t let him. I take it and swallow it and make him mine again, and then he’s pulling me up by the arms to kiss him and has me pinned down and I take him inside me again. A push on his chest and I’m on top, riding him.

During the night I lose count of how many times we f*ck, making up for lost time. Three or four, at least. By morning I’m stiff and sore but I don’t care. The warm water in the shower relieves the ache, even with him in there with me. I stand in the hot water wrapped in his arms, feeling the heat soak into my hair, the steam warm my joints. The ice queen has melted, and she’s a puddle in his arms. I pray silently. Never take him away from me again. Never ever, please. I want to ride in his car. I want to go home.

It’s nearly eleven when Alicia starts banging on the door. Check out time.

I open it for her.

“Did you two talk?” she asks.