Page 89 of Bones

Standing, Deke turned and lowered my back to the mattress. He bent to keep our mouths connected as he hastily pushed off his jeans.

Like it pained him to do it, he tore his mouth away but stayed dipped low.

First to kiss my neck.

Then the strip of skin that was exposed between where my hoodie had ridden up and my waistband.

Then lower still as he unfastened the button to tear my jeans and panties down my legs.

The giant man who wasn’t really a man.

Who was literally made from the heavens.

Who was good and giving and so unbelievably sexy.

All six and a half feet of solid muscle gracefully lowered next to the bed.

Kneeling before me like I was deserving of his worship.

I tried to stop him. “You shouldn’t?—”

“Hush, baby.” His palms started at my knees before caressing up. Slowly, savoring it, he used his hold to spread my legs. Exposing me. At the intensity of his stare, I tried to close them again, but his fingers tightened as his gaze stayed locked on the most intimate part of me.

He reached one hand behind his neck to clutch his shirt and pull it over his head. His muscles flexed at the motion.

No wonder he’s able to lift me like I weigh nothing more than a dried, fallen leaf.

My view was cut short when his head dipped, and his beard and lips lightly teased along my thigh. Then the other one. Anxiety and tense desire battled until I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to shift away or pull his head to where I needed it.

I gave a weak push on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

But it wasn’t my choice.

Positioning my legs over his shoulders, he gruffly rumbled, “The fuck I don’t.”

And then he buried his head between my thighs. No teasing. No tenderness. No hesitation.

Like when he kissed me, his tongue speared in to taste and take andown.

Tangling one hand in the sheets and one in his soft hair, my hips ground shamelessly against his face. His groan vibrated against me, adding another surge to the sensations that rippled across my nerve endings, igniting each like a string of Christmas lights.

He followed the noise up with movement, and I lifted onto my elbow to peer down my body. Like it was him being pleasured, his eyes were closed in bliss as his tongue, teeth, and lips greedily worked me.

Feeling my gaze on him, he snapped his lids open, and we locked eyes. He held the intense contact as one of his arms dropped from my thigh and began moving.

It took me a long moment to realize what was happening.

He’s stroking himself.

I had a brief thought that I should be ashamed. That it was my job to satisfy him, and I was failing that duty by selfishly accepting his attention while he was forced to take care of himself.

But nothing about the moment seemed like a compulsory obligation to him. He wanted to do it. He was getting off on doing it.

Because of me.

Even if I wanted to stop—which I very much didnot—I couldn’t. Random tremors went through my body, tightening muscles and making my breath catch. Sweat slicked my skin, made worse by the fact I still wore my tee, hoodie, and his flannel.

Heart racing, I forced myself to move away.

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