Page 107 of The Darkest Chase

My eyes close as his lips trace mine, before opening again as he pulls away.

“How do you know my own body better than me?”

“Experience,” he answers, and that dangerous smile widens into wicked teeth. “Enough questions. I don’t want to get kicked out before I have the chance to taste you.”

Taste me?

Every question about how many people he’s been with before, his past relationships, what those women were like fall away as I realize what he means.

I just watch, stunned as he lifts his glistening fingers to his lips and licks them clean, running his tongue over each digit with such shameless hunger I freeze.

But I’m wrong.

I still don’t truly understand.

Not until he’s licked his fingers clean, holding me hypnotized the whole time, only to catch the belt loops of my jeans and tug them down.

I’m paralyzed, realizing how in over my head I am with this man.

But I certainly don’t resist as he strips them away from me.

My panties, too, leaving me naked except for my bra pulled down around my ribs, the straps hanging loose against my upper arms.

My legs feel like velvet and raw sex as Micah strokes my thighs.

There’s something so alluring about this, him kneeling with his uniform dark against the pale-pink sheets of my bed and my own pale skin.

Yet he’s whiter still, all winter enchantment.

In the back of my mind, I still think of him as a little more than human. And what he does to me next definitely feels like black magic.

That crown of snowy hair dips down.

He uses his shoulders to nudge my legs apart, and then—oh God, it really hits me what he meant by taste me.

His tongue traces every fold of my pussy with a knowing touch, alternating so randomly I never know if I’ll be holding my breath or gasping in a rush every time he thrusts.

He paints mad, hypnotic circles on my skin, probing me until there’s no part of me he hasn’t licked completely.

I barely last a couple minutes.

Not when I’m so sensitive, so hot, and so starved.

Not when I’m still wrung out from the first time.

And it’s almost painful to come again this soon, but the pain is the sweetest kind.

I hardly realize I’ve got handfuls of his hair, tugging roughly.

I hardly realize I’m crushing my thighs around his head, digging my feet into his spine.

I hardly realize I’m barely even still on the bed, arched so taut my shoulders hardly touch the mattress, head thrown back, broken cries escaping my throat.

I can’t think.

I can only feel.

And Micah Ainsley makes me feel everything.

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