Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(49)



“It did hurt.” Gripping her upper arms, he walked her backward into the dark bedroom.

“For a second. I can’t remember anything but the pleasure. I want that again. And I want to give it to you.”

Using one hand, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. “Don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Rose.”

She put one hand on his chest and pushed. He sank back onto the bed, his heart skidding to a halt as she removed her top and bra, allowing her heavy breasts freedom. She robbed him of all breath as she dropped onto the end of the bed and crawled over his body. The sheer unexpected attack, the erotic image of her moving like a cat, arching her back, her lithe body rolling from side to side as she crawled up and over him, sent his temperature soaring and lust rolling off him in waves. Her breasts trailed invitingly over his legs, leaving her heart-shaped bottom swaying with enticement.

The sensual brush of her hair against the inside of his thighs sent another rush of heat through his veins. Rose did the unexpected. She ran her hands over his thighs and bent her head and kissed the inside of his leg. Again his cock jerked in anticipation. Her hair brushed his sensitive erection, electrifying his nerve endings. He closed his eyes as her fingers sank into the heavy muscle of his thighs, kneading deep. He felt the featherlight touch of her soft lips sliding over his legs. The contrast between the two sensations was extraordinary, or maybe it was simply that she seemed to be totally immersed in her exploration of him.

Rose took care in kissing her way up his legs and over his hips, using hands and mouth to memorize every detail of his body. His hips bucked against her involuntarily, but she didn’t speed up, in spite of the evidence of his body’s hunger. She’d stated she was a perfectionist, and he believed her. She didn’t leave one square inch of his hips, groin, or legs unattended. By the time he felt her breath bathing his cock, he was on fire.

Her tongue seemed a velvet rasp over the mushroom head, a small lick, not tentative, and then ... He held his breath, fingers bunching the comforter into his fists in an effort to lie still while she played. She needed this, a sense of control and knowledge. He had taken exquisite care to explore her body, to learn every inch of her erogenous zones, and clearly she was repaying him with a bonus.

He watched her through narrowed eyes. She was so damn beautiful. She had a look of intense concentration on her face. He gasped as she nearly swallowed him. Her mouth was hot and tight and silky smooth. There was no way to catch his breath, with the sensations rocking him. And then she was doing that slow licking, moving over the base of his cock, down lower, massaging with gentle fingers, committing his body to her memory, taking in his reaction as she used tongue and fingers.

No one had ever made him feel so important—or so turned on. The explosion was building to gigantic proportions, and she hadn’t even really paid all that much attention to his cock. Her hands slipped under him, fingers massaging and kneading his butt. At the same time, she leaned down and engulfed his thick, hard erection again. She did something with her tongue, flicking and teasing along the underside, where his most sensitive spot was, and he couldn’t control his reaction.

His hips bucked again, this time a little more wildly. She didn’t grab the base of his shaft to stop him; she simply cradled his butt in her hands and urged him into her. She pulled back several times but seemed eager—more than eager—to keep exploring her ability to bring him pleasure. And she was damned good at it for an amateur, mostly, he was certain, because she was so enthusiastic. She wanted his pleasure, and to know that she could give it to him.

Where the hell did you learn this? Because if there was a book floating around, he was going to read the thing.

Silly man. I’m just following your example. You’re the teacher; you did this to me, our first time together, remember? Her voice was almost as much of a silken caress as her lips.

She was back to licking. Sometimes her lips slid up and down him and then she’d make slow circles designed to drive him insane. He closed his eyes and let the small explosions behind his eyelids carry him on a gathering tide of ecstasy.

Rose wasn’t mechanical; she was loving him, just as he had done to her their first time together. She wanted this experience for him, not for herself and, he realized, that was her secret. She was giving herself to him in the same way he had given himself to her. Fully. Without reservation. He had made the commitment to her that night, giving her not only their son but his unswerving loyalty for life. As simple as it sounded, he had tried to show her, without words, that he would love her and stand for her. The act had been physical, but the way he had gone about it had represented so much more.

Rose had understood him. He felt the buildup from his toes, burning up through his legs, the fire spreading downward from his belly until the feeling centered in his groin, like the gathering of a volcano. Her mouth was smooth, hot silk, wet and wild, moving, not just in a steady bob but spiraling up and down, her tongue sometimes flicking, sometimes using flat, broad strokes that sent his pulse rocketing.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to be able to hold on.” Already his hands had shifted from the comforter to her hair, gripping harder than he wanted, but he could barely think, his teeth clenched, breathing hard to try to slow down.

I want you to.

He knew she felt the tightening in his entire body, but did she know what to expect? “Not this time, Rose.” He felt like a saint, trying to protect her.

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