Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(80)
That isn’t possible. You’re giving me… life. I existed, Trap, but I wasn’t human. No one but you has ever seen me as a woman. As a human being. As someone worthwhile.
“That may be true, baby, but any number of men who aren’t arrogant and rude and have the paparazzi hanging around constantly would want to make you feel that. Someone who isn’t bringing you into the mess that is their life. You aren’t getting a prize. Money, maybe, but no prize life.”
She pushed her body back against his. Tight. Melting into him. He felt her soft amusement there in his mind. Filling him. He loved that she made him feel as if he could never be alone because she would always be there, inside of him.
I’m getting the best prize, Trap. You’ll always be that for me.
He closed his eyes, knowing he had to let her sleep. He felt her weariness and knew her fatigue was bone deep. Exhaustion had set in and she was already drifting. He hoped he was the best for her because he wasn’t going to give her up. He was going to fight for her with every breath in his body.
CHAPTER 13
I’m getting the best prize, Trap. You’ll always be that for me.
Cayenne’s voice woke Trap from his restless sleep. He was instantly alert. Aware. His body rock hard. Little jackhammers tripped in his head, drilling deep, digging relentlessly at his brain until the pain was brutal.
She was there with him. His body was wrapped possessively around hers, his hands holding her to him, his legs and arms trapping her close. She hadn’t moved in her sleep, not even to put an inch between them. He would have known the moment she’d tried.
When I saw and heard you, there in your room all those nights, I wanted to crawl all over you, to put my mouth on your cock and taste you. I needed to lick you clean. I burned. I burned every night after I saw you do that and didn’t really know how to make it go away.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sound of her voice, remembering the feel of her sinful mouth on him. So hot. Burning her brand into him. The jackhammers drilled deeper, insistently, sending shards of glass through his mind. His cock was pure steel, a thick, savage spike as relentless as the spikes pushing into his brain. Pushing against her body, he couldn’t control the jerk of need, the throb of hunger, the rush of hot blood centering in his groin in a painful demand.
Trap inhaled, taking her scent deep into his lungs. Baby. I can’t sleep anymore. It was still dark and he didn’t need a clock to tell him it was around three A.M. The webs shrouding their bed added to the sensual, erotic need flooding him. I can’t wait, Cayenne. If I don’t f*ck you soon, I swear to God, woman, I’m going to come apart.
He felt her pour inside his mind. Nerves were there, but no resistance. She was a little drowsy, but already, he could feel the same urgent need building in her. Not brutal or primitive like it was in him, but there all the same.
He slid his hand up her belly to cup her breast. So soft. Nothing like it. You feel like pure silk. He used his finger and thumb to roll her nipple. To tug gently. An exquisite torture for both of them. He knew from the night before that her breasts were sensitive. He applied a little more pressure, a pinch then a soothing brush. A flash of heat and then another soothing touch.
I want my mouth here. Right now, baby.
His hand urged her to turn slightly so she was on her back. Again she didn’t protest. She went onto her back for him, his body tight against hers, his hand still on her breast. He didn’t wait for her to settle, he dipped his head and took the offering. His mouth closed over her lush right breast, his hand working her left one. He suckled while his fingers kneaded. He used his teeth and tongue while his fingers rolled and tugged.
He may have started out gently, but with every hitch of her breath, every keening gasp and soft mewling cry, he got a little rougher. He used the edge of his teeth, and heard more sweet music from her. He marked her deliberately, several strawberries over the slope of each breast, suckling strong, branding her. His teeth tugged and his tongue soothed.
She arched into him, giving him more, her arms going around his head to hold him to her. He f*cking loved that. No matter how much he took, she offered him more. She responded to his rough play, and when he interspersed harsh with gentle, her body writhed against his, silently begging for more.
He slid his hand down her soft belly to trace the pattern of the hourglass nestled in the center of the black curls. Her curls were silky, the red of the hourglass even silkier if that was possible.
I’m going to get a tattoo of this, he murmured softly into her mind, more of a thought than words. The pads of his fingers brushed through the tight curls. A spiderweb and a couple of spiders with this beautiful red hourglass.
You like it? In my hair and also down there? I can’t make it go away. She sounded breathless. Shocked. Sensual. As if the thought of a tattoo matching her hourglass meant something to her.
He was absolutely honest with her. I would be very upset with you if you found a way to make this beautiful hourglass go away. It’s part of you. Why would you want to change that? There was an edge to his voice and in his mind. I f*cking love the hourglass. In your hair. In your curls. He stroked the design, feeling the soft tiny straight hairs nestled inside the vee of curls.
I look different from other women.