Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(52)
And then she thought of something she could try to make up for it. She sat up, surprising him. He sat back on his heels. “You okay?”
“Yeah. But I want to try something. Can we?”
“You bet.” He grinned and combed his fingers through her hair. With all the thrashing around she’d just done, she probably looked like Sybill Trelawney.
Before she changed her mind, she said, “Okay, lie down.”
With a cocked eyebrow, he did as she asked, lying on his back. His erection was enormous, and his tip was wet. He’d been sacrificing himself for her. Well, no more of that. After taking a moment to consider the logistics of what she planned—she knew it could work; it was famous, after all—she crawled over and straddled him. Backwards. With her knees at about the level of his chest.
He saw what she intended as she maneuvered into position and, with a murmured, “Ah, babe,” he slid his arms between her legs, bringing her bottom half farther up toward his head and holding her snugly, his arms wrapped around her thighs.
She circled her hand around his base and lowered onto her other elbow. When she sucked him into her mouth, he clutched her hard, spreading her even wider, and absolutely devoured her.
He was too big for her to take into her mouth completely—or maybe it was just that she hadn’t figured out that whole deep throat thing, which, frankly, freaked her out. But she’d figured out how to use her hands and tongue in ways that he seemed to like just fine. Whenever he started getting thrusty, she’d back off and use her hands to finish him.
It was much harder to concentrate with him sucking on her clit at the same time, though. She kept stopping to focus on how he was making her feel, and to flex on his face, until he’d pause and, without taking his mouth off of her, grunt, and she’d get back to work on him. Finally, she simply could not multitask any longer, and she dropped her head to his thigh, one hand still gripping him, and let the climax overwhelm her, carbonating her blood and making it explode right at the point where his tongue touched her. To hold back her scream this time, she bit down, as she often did into a pillow or a blanket when she was turned away from him. But this time it was his thigh she had between her teeth, which she realized when she tasted blood.
That realization cut the waning end of her orgasm short, and she sat up and scooted down a little, so she wouldn’t land on his face. She looked at his thigh: a perfect, bleeding imprint of half her teeth, tops and bottoms.
He was laughing quietly. “Ow, babe.”
“I’m so sorry.” She made to move off him, humiliated, but he held on.
“It’s okay. Totally worth it. But…” He made himself bob in her hand.
Oh, right. The least she could do was finish him. Straddling his chest now, she bent forward and took him into her mouth. Now she could focus, and she listened and felt and could tell what he liked best. His favorite thing was both hands around him, wringing with moderate pressure in opposite directions, while she sucked his head and a few inches more. Getting her off—twice—had him close already, so it was only a matter of minutes before he was bucking under her, trying to pull her away.
“C’mon, babe. I can’t hold…” He didn’t finish. She could hear in the tense strain of his voice why not.
He’d never come in her mouth. She was curious, but he always pulled her away. This time, though, in this position, he couldn’t. So she stayed on him. How bad could it be? Lots of people swallowed. She sucked harder, squeezed harder, and then moved one hand down to his balls and gave them a squeeze, and that was it. His fingers dug into her hips and his legs stretched to tautness. He made an unholy growling sound that she could feel rumbling in his chest, against her core, and he shot into her mouth. She swallowed and kept sucking until he was twitching erratically under her, and then she let him go. When she did, he relaxed completely, going so slack that if she hadn’t been rolling off him already, she might well have fallen.
Well. It didn’t taste like caramel, that was for sure. But it wasn’t bad. And she really liked what it had done to him.
She felt his hand ease around her arm, and she turned to him. He was smiling dopily, but there was a crease of worry between his eyes. “You okay?”
“Totally. I liked that a lot. Are we done?”
Laughing, he pulled her to his chest, under the strong shelter of his arm. “I need a couple minutes now.
But no, we’re not done until you say we are.”
With her head pillowed on his chest, Adrienne felt sated and content—a far cry from how she’d felt earlier in the day, when she’d been cowering under a picnic table, wondering if Badger was going to get hurt or worse.
“What happened today?”
He sighed. “Hav’s father shot Isaac.”
“What?” She tried to sit up, but he held her down. “Oh my God! But you said he was okay!”
“I said he’d be okay—and he will be. He already is, mostly. He took a bullet through his arm. Hit an artery, but Tasha sewed him up and got some blood in him, and he’s home resting. He’ll be okay.”
Thinking about the weird scene between Cory and Havoc’s mother, Adrienne couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “What’s going on, Badge? Everything is so different in town. And with everybody. With you.
What happened?”
He was quiet for so long that Adrienne had decided he wasn’t going to answer at all and was trying to figure out what to do about that. But eventually, he did speak, his voice low, sounding louder against her ear than in the room. “We’re in some pretty deep trouble. I can’t talk much about it, but we’re tangled up with some bad people. They killed Hav.” He rubbed his chest. “They did this to me. Took Len’s eye. And tore up Show’s back and legs. Other stuff, too.” He took a deep breath; Adrienne could feel the scar tissue tightening as his chest rose. When he let the breath out, it shook.