Kinked (Elder Races #6)(38)

They hovered in midair. Clenched into fists.

Meanwhile the pileup of words continued on the freeway in her head. The wreck was tremendous and ugly, and the force of holding all those words back while keeping her hands off of him, while he continued to leisurely, thoroughly, sensually explore her mouth, caused her whole body to shake.

He never said she couldn’t kiss him back. She did so, aggressively, while she growled low in her throat, and his hot, accelerated breathing gusted over her cheek. His hips pinned hers, and the long, hard length of his stiff c**k pressed against her belly.

She had the impulse to grab hold of his hips and yank him harder against her—and caught herself just in time before her hands connected. Damn it! Why didn’t he just tie her up and make this easy?

He sensed her struggle, of course, and laughed wickedly against her lips. The hoarse sound vibrated against her chest. He put his hands at her waist, slipped them under her sweater and the thin cotton undershirt she wore underneath, and slid them up the length of her narrow torso until he reached her high, slight br**sts.

She never wore a bra. She hated them and didn’t need one. His hands collided with bare, sensitive skin, and they both sucked in air. She threw out her arms, and her fists slammed into the wall.

Quentin. Caeravorn. Is. Touching. Me.

She liked having her br**sts fondled. She wasn’t any stranger to it. It was still the Quentin part of the whole equation that bent her head.

He dragged both of her tops up and stared down at her naked torso as he rubbed callused thumbs over the dusky, erect flesh of her ni**les. Sensation jolted through her, jagged bolts of lightning strikes that hit at her moistening sex.

Desperate for something to grasp so that she could keep her hands off of him, her talons flicked out. She dug them into the walls and held on. His expression was clenched, the tanned skin darkened. He muttered something under his breath. Her mind was too hazed to figure out exactly what he had said. It had sounded very like a curse.

Then, still flicking one nipple with the nail of his thumb, he bent his head further, pulled the other nipple into his mouth, and bit her.

Pain joined the lightning bolts of pleasure, each sensation heightening the other to an almost unbearable pitch. She had always liked the mixture of pain and pleasure, like the raw fire of brandy coupled with the smooth sweetness of chocolate. She cried out wordlessly, arching her back to offer her br**sts to him, and hooked one leg around his waist to pull him tighter against her, rubbing the center of her aching flesh against his erection. Heat from their bodies wrapped them in a velvet inferno.

Do it. Bite me again. She nearly strangled on her own tongue. Son of a bitch.

After the bite, he suckled strongly, each pull as devastating as a blow. She cried out again, the sound sharp with the unbearable ache building in her body.

The only sounds in the cabin were sexual ones that created a mélange of urgency. The abrasion of cloth, rasp of breath, the sounds that he made, the sounds that she made.

Until a foreign noise thrust into the mix. An insistent beeping.

Fractured thoughts and impulses climbed over the wreckage in her head, and tried to make themselves coherent. What the hell … somebody hit whatever that is … make the noise stop.…

Realization hit.

It was the alarm on Quentin’s iPhone.

His head lifted. They looked at each other. His eyes were glazed, hands still clenched on her rib cage.

What to do.

She wanted, needed him to continue. She almost grabbed him to kiss him again. In fact, she was surprised she didn’t. The only thing that stopped her, the one thing that was more compelling than the hunger rampaging through her body, was a single thought.

She yanked her talons out of the wall and retracted them, and smacked his shoulders with the palms of her hands, hard enough to make him stagger back a few steps. With a smile that blazed across her face, she said, “My turn.”

Quentin was on fire. His body was ablaze, his mind hazed with smoke.

This small slice of power that Aryal had given him was the headiest thing he had ever experienced. It ravaged his senses like napalm, clinging to everything and transforming the landscape inside of him. She, who was normally so uncontainable, was under his control.

He looked into her uncommon face, twisted with agonized desire. The tendons in her arms stood out as she dug her talons into the wall and struggled to do as she was told. She had arched her torso away from the wall in an unconscious offering to him. It caused her abdomen to hollow out underneath the graceful arc of her rib cage. Above that, the curve of her slender br**sts flared. The small nipple he had bitten and sucked had turned red as a ripe cherry.

Everything about her was racy, streamlined and built for speed.

Greed swallowed him whole. He gripped her with both hands, fingers imprinting on the canvas of her flesh, and thought, you are mine right now.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

What? He shook his passion-fogged head.

Her head came up, dark eyes wild with some internal storm. Something hit him, knocking him back a few steps. A half second later, he realized it had been her.

“My turn.”

No. NO. He wasn’t ready to stop, to give her up.

“I need more time,” he said. He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

“That’s another bargain.” She yanked down her tops and gestured with a shaking hand at the noisy iPhone. “Do something about that or I will.”