Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(40)

Her mouth was hot and tight and the sight of her enjoying pleasuring him, her eyes soft and loving, was so damn sexy he almost lost every vestige of control. She didn’t look away from his gaze, as her cheeks hollowed and her tongue danced and she followed the graphic instructions in his mind. His language was raw, he couldn’t help it; she was killing him with the tight suction of her mouth. Her nails grazed his sac and he jerked again, the air in his lungs exploding this time in a rush of sensations.

Son of a bitch, baby, like that. Hard. His fingers clutched at her hair and he drew her closer, unable to stop the sudden thrust of his hips.

There was a moment of fear at the loss of control, but he breathed for her. Relax. Let your throat relax. That’s it, that’s my girl. Son of a f*cking bitch that feels so good.

He threw back his head, a hoarse groan escaping as he caught the nape of her neck with one hand and held her there, thrusting deeper. He wanted her to drop her hands, to cup his tightening balls in her palms. He gave her that order as well. She blinked, hesitating. Her hand at the base of his shaft was her safety net.

His fingers tightened in her hair and he tugged. I need you to trust me. Keep your mind in mine. Feel what you’re doing to me.

At once fire poured through her body like hot lava, centering in her groin. Every nerve ending was inflamed, every muscle tight, from her calves to her breasts. She knew she created those sensations in him, that raw pleasure bordering on ecstasy. She wanted more for him, for herself. She wanted it all, everything she could take or give.

She needed to take him deeper, to constrict and massage, to pour more heat over him. Her hands cupped and caressed his sac, her mouth worked, and all the while she could feel his needs, dark and erotic, tugging at her for more, always more. He needed her to give herself to him without restraint. It was the only way he had to combat the ice in his soul. She burned the arctic cold away in a firestorm of lust and passion.

He held her still, drawing back, and then pushed forward, filling her mouth, pulsing along her throat, holding her gaze captive with his. He set the pace, hard and fast until she thought she couldn’t take it, then slow, each stroke long and leisurely, while his voice in her mind, rough and seductive, urged her to suck harder, to bathe him with her tongue.

All the while her body ached, begging for attention, her breasts heavy and full with need, her core wet and pulsing in time to the shaft in her mouth. She dug her nails into his thigh, desperate for all of him, even though he was intimidating her just a little, controlling her head with a hard hand at her nape and a fist in her hair as his rhythm became harder and faster.

She felt him swelling, and he immediately withdrew, breathing deep. “Not like this, baby.”

“I can feel your need, see it in your mind,” she protested. “I want to do this for you.”

“Another day I want to feel you sucking me dry.” He closed his eyes briefly, the feeling, the image, in his mind of her wanting him to finish in her mouth, her desperate for all of him, anywhere, anytime, all of him. “But not tonight. Tonight I want to be so deep inside of you that you’ll never get me out. I want to brand you mine forever.”

She was fairly certain he already had. She couldn’t imagine doing the things she was doing with anyone else. Her body was still on fire, every part of her aching and needy.

He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his suddenly cold gaze. “I’d kill them.”

“You mean me,” she corrected.

He loved her. She was already in his heart, buried deep in his soul. “Never you. I could never hurt you.” And he couldn’t. She was one of the people in the world—maybe the only person—who was truly safe, even if she shattered his heart.

He pulled her to her feet and walked her backward until they were behind the couch. He spun her around and once again caught the nape of her neck, bending her forward over the high back, pressing her head down so that the shirt road up over her enticing curves. “I think this shirt has become my favorite.” He didn’t wait. Didn’t give her time. He couldn’t.

He slammed into her, hard and deep, through the hot, slick folds, the tight muscles that reluctantly gave way and then gripped him hard, rippling like live silk. Her cry was loud, echoing through the house, but his was hoarse, strangling his throat, pleasure ripping through his body. He couldn’t believe what it was like wanting her. The intensity of his need was so strong he could barely stay in control. She was so damned hot and tight, so silky soft and slick, he had to fight to hold back his climax. Around Tansy, his control went right up in smoke.

Lightning whipped through him, scorching him. He caught her hips in his hands, and brought her back to him as he surged forward, needing to plunge deeper into the dark recesses of her tight sheath. Lust and love whirled together until he couldn’t tell one from the other. Emotions surged through him, filling his mind and heart when he barely could sustain feeling any other time. Where he was cold and dark, she was as hot as the sun and bathed him in her light.

He slammed home again and stopped, feeling her tense, throb around him, tighten, and grasp with her silken muscles. Slowly he bent over her, even as he tugged on her hair, bringing her head up. His lips whispered over her ear. “You f*cking save my soul, Tansy. Every time.” It was stupid of him to give up so much of himself to her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed her to know what she was to him—that he might demand her total surrender, but he was hers, all the way, and he surrendered himself completely to her.