Page 105 of The Darkest Chase

“Next time, yeah.”

He lowers himself over me to claim my mouth again.

It hits deeper this time with his hips rocking in slow, dragging thrusts between my legs, grating against my jeans.

His hands stroke my belly, my ribs, cupping my breasts.

I whimper as his huge, strong hands cover my flesh, bathing me in this creeping pleasure as he makes me so aware of his touch.

His tongue delves deeper, stealing my breath, silencing me as his thumbs tease my nipples through my bra, working them in circles.

Every last one sends an arrow to that hot, wet place inside me, hungrier than ever.

With every stroke, he inches my bra down until it’s skin on skin.

Then I feel the roughness of his work-weathered fingers, teasing my flesh until I’m tender.

Until I’m breathing in whimpers.

Until I’m clutching his hair each time his tongue thrusts deep in matching rhythm to the sway of his hips.

Until my entire mind sears to ash while my body ignites with wanting.

I want him.

I don’t need experience to know that, to crave our bodies crashing together in a demonic rhythm until I’m a wrecked mess.

I want to feel him thrust.

And when he pinches my nipple between his forefinger and thumb, a sensation so raw arcs through me that it’s like he’s given me exactly what I’m craving.

I jerk up until my back arches, rubbing against him, grinding my hips against his, raking my nails over his uniform shirt.

I’m so desperate.

Quivering.

“Micah,” I gasp against his lips. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile…”

“Hush.” The word itself a kiss, even as he gives my nipple an electrifying tug. I dig my knees into his sides. “I’m not treating you like glass, Talia. I’m treating you like you’re one of a kind.”

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Butterflies swirl as I open my eyes, looking up at him—and a wicked smile bares those teeth that make me go wild.

It’s the only warning before he dips down.

Then it’s not his hands on my breasts, it’s his lips, kissing and turning those teeth loose.

He makes my skin sting with shocks of pleasure, even as his hands stray lower.

Lower.

And there’s a harsh uncertainty as he unzips my jeans before I make myself relax as much as I can when he’s teasing and tormenting me with every bite and every play of his fingers over my belly.

Lower still.

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