Rogue (Dead Man's Ink, #2)(30)
Rebel takes hold of my left hand first and then the other, pinning them above my head. “I thought you wanted this slow.”
“I do.”
“Then don’t tempt me.”
He slides down my body, and then he’s pulling my legs apart even further, making a pleased humming sound at the back of his throat as he stares at my *. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d probably be cringing. Instead I’m biting on my bottom lip like a character out of some trashy romance novel, feeling electrified by the way his eyes travel so slowly over me.
“You want my tongue, sugar?” he growls.
“Yes. Yes, I want it,” I pant. “Please.”
He chuckles under his breath, running his hands down the insides of my thighs. “You’re incredible,” he tells me. “Just…f*cking…incredible.” When he dips and teases his tongue over my clit, my head starts spinning. I have no idea how guys learn how to give head, but Matt could have done with some lessons from the school Rebel attended. He knows exactly what to do to set off those fireworks in my brain. It occurs to me that he’s probably so good at it because he’s had years and years of practice with god knows how many women, but the thought is fleeting. Neither my body nor my mind will allow me to think about things like that right now. Not when I could be floating on this cloud, feeling like the tether holding me to this earth could snap any second and I could drown in nothingness. It’s what I want. No, it’s what I need.
Rebel has me on the brink of coming and he must know it. Just as it feels like I’m climbing, lifting, rising to the top of some giant rollercoaster, he slides his index finger and his middle finger inside me and every last synapse in my brain starts firing.
“Jesus, you really do taste like sugar,” he groans. “I can’t get enough of you.” He only has to pump his fingers into three or four more times before he pushes me over the edge and I plummet, heart hammering, hands clinging to the sheets, vision narrowing and my ears ringing.
It takes me a moment to realize my thighs are locked tight around Rebel’s head and his tongue is still working over my clitoris, stretching out the end of my orgasm, making the muscles in my stomach and the backs of my legs twitch and flex.
“Oh, shit. Stop, stop. Please! Stop!” I’m laughing uncontrollably, but it’s manic, pleading. He’s driving me crazy. I’m way too sensitive for him to carry on. He stops, rocking back on his heels, a very smug smile spreading across his face.
“You taste like candy,” he says, as he gets up off the bed and finally removes his boxer shorts. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Sure, we had sex in the hallway at his dad’s place, and, yes, we did it again the other night, but I’ve never seen him. Never had the chance to check out what he’s got going on down there. Rebel seems to know that I want to see him properly. He doesn’t rush back onto the bed. He stands, shoulders back, covered in bruises, favoring his good side, but he doesn’t hide his cock. If anything, he’s pretty damn proud of it as he remains frozen to the spot, allowing me to get a good look. And he has every right to be proud. Matt was pretty straight laced, but he did like to watch porn with me every once in a while. Rebel easily rivals any of the guys we saw in those ‘movies.’ His cock is perfection. It’s actually beautiful. That seems like a strange thought to have about a penis, but it’s true. It makes me want to do weird things…like take a plaster cast of it and make myself a personalized Rebel dildo that I can tease myself with it when he’s not around.
“I take it you like what you see?” he asks. “You’ve got this look on your face. Somewhere between complete carnal lust and overwhelming relief.”
I laugh. “Overwhelming relief?”
He nods, climbing back up onto the bed, back up onto me. “Yes. Like you thought I somehow tricked you before and I was going to have a micro-dick.”
More laughter, though it’s strained now. I can feel him between my legs, pressing against the entrance to my *. If he so much as takes a deep breath, he’ll be inside me. And god, I want that. “I’m not…sizeist,” I tell him.
“Doesn’t matter.” Rebel pushes forward just the tiniest little bit, but the feeling of him entering me makes me dizzy in the best possible way. “Even if I had a two inch cocktail sausage for a dick, I could still make you come with it. I could still make you scream my f*cking name. I know what I’m doing, sugar, and it makes me seriously f*cking hard to bring you pleasure. Now, are you ready for me to make you come?”
His gaze penetrates me deep. The heat from his body on top of me is making my head spin. “I’m ready,” I tell him. And he pushes into me, slowly, with purpose, staring me in the eye, his arms braced either side of my head as he sinks deeper and deeper. He feels…he feels amazing. Before, things have always felt amazing, but this is something else entirely. He doesn’t pull back straight away; he holds himself in place, holding me in his gaze, and it feels like something clicks. That sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. It feels like the last tiny shred of resistance I may have habored concerning this man is gone, banished, destroyed, and now I’m screwed. I won’t be able to hold myself back anymore.
I’m surprised by the look in Rebel’s eyes when he finally pulls back, drawing out of me so he can repeat the motion. He looks surprised. A little shocked even? He shakes his head, grinning a little, and then he really takes my breath away. He supports himself with one hand, and then cups my face with the other, bringing his lips down on mine. Kissing him isn’t something I’ve daydreamed about. I haven’t allowed the thought to cross my mind. We kissed back at his father’s place, but we were both desperate then, fighting to control ourselves. We were ripping and tearing at each other like wild animals. Those kisses were intense and powerful, but our mouths were crashing together, devouring one another. Now, the way he kisses me is purposeful and direct. His mouth is soft on mine, but he’s in control. Lowering his full weight on top of me, he leans on his elbows, which frees up his other hand to brush the hair back out of my face, trace his fingers across the line of my cheekbone, my jaw, my temple. He moves slow just like I asked him to, but he makes sure he’s deep inside me each time before he draws away. I move with him, feeling trapped and safe beneath him at the same time, both scared and whole.