Page 17 of Mated in Flames

I know that this is probably just the left-over emotion of the night. But there’s no room, right now, to think about Dane or David or Supernaturals or mythical creatures. Warwick dives straight in and my lips part as our tongues touch and entangle, something burning deep within my stomach. I want him, I want this, and I press closer to him, feeling the way his body trembles against mine.

My back hits the closed door and my leg winds around his calf. I can already feel his hardness pressing against me, and fire is beginning to fill me as I gasp against his mouth, falling deeply and suddenly into a yawning pit of desire.

Then Warwick breaks the kiss and dips his head, nipping at my jaw, making me groan out loud.

“Fuck,” I breath, my head falling back. “Do that again.”

My hands are clutching his shoulders in a death grip, and his hold is tight on my hips. Needing more, needing to bring him closer, I loop my legs around his waist, trusting both him and the door to hold me up, and drag our groins even closer together.

This is spiralling out of my control. But that’s okay. I don’t want to be in control right now. I don’t want to think about anything. Alcohol has numbed my inhibitions and the emotional upheaval of the evening has made us both vulnerable to one another.

“Bed,” I force out as Warwick latches onto my fluttering pulse and sucks on it. “Bed, now, Warwick.”

His skin is blazing hot. Is it because of the heat that’s ramping up between us, or because he is a phoenix? I don’t know. I can’t even care as he stumbles backward, his hands dropping from my hips to under me, supporting me as I lean into him, breathless and overwhelmed.

“Which way?” he groans.

Not bothering with a verbal answer, I kick out at a closed door nearby and Warwick gets the message, fumbling the door open and stumbling inside. My room is cool and dark, the curtains still closed since I hadn’t bothered to open them when I dragged myself out of bed at a ridiculous hour of the morning.

Warwick heads straight for the bed and then I’m falling backwards, landing with a slight bounce on my mattress. I look up at him, splayed out on the bed, watching the fire in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning over me and bracing himself on the mattress. “And amazing.”

I don’t have time to think about the compliments before he swoops in again, and then all thoughts are driven away as he captures my lips in a fiery kiss, pushing me down as my hands scrabble at his clothes, wanting them off, now. I tear at the buttons of his shirt, not caring if any of them break off, and he shrugs it off impatiently. When it’s gone, I slide my hand down his smooth, muscled chest, feeling the way his breath is heaving, and fumble with the buckle on his belt.

Warwick breaks away and tugs my shirt up, making me sit up slightly so he can pull it over my head, leaving me only in my white bra. I feel his eyes roaming me, and the desire on his face feels good.

The belt comes free and I tear it off before pulling his zipper down. Warwick steps back for a moment, then, pushing both his jeans and his boxers down, and I shimmy out of my own jeans, kicking them off before dragging my panties down over my legs and dropping them to the ground. Warwick looks up as I sit up and unhook my bra, allowing it to fall.

Then we stare at one another. I drink in his lean, strong body, eyes falling on the thick, throbbing penis between his legs, and I’ve never seen something I wanted so much. My breath catches.

Then we move, clashing in the middle, desperate to touch and taste. His touch is intoxicating, and I press closer, wanting more and more and more. I want to feel each callous on his skin, touch each scar that crosses his body, and feel him moving deeply inside me.

“Fuck me,” I gasp out.

Warwick pauses then. Something crosses his expression, too quickly for me to catch, and his hands still even as his hips rut against mine.

“Are…” He gasps and clenches his hands around my hips, hard enough to bruise. “Are you sure?”

I wind my legs around him and pull him in.

“Yes,” I hiss, not sure what he’s waiting for.

It was all the reassurance he needed. Warwick draws back and I feel his blunt fingers pressing against my entrance, circling and prodding, making me fall back onto the bed. I want so much more, but, for the moment, this is overwhelming and oh so good.

I barely register when he pulls his hand back, but I feel the tip of his cock against me, and my legs fall open, encouraging him in.

When he slides inside me, we both stop for a moment, gasping. I can feel him, thick and heavy and hot, and I can’t even remember the last time someone had me like this. Slowly, Warwick slides home, inch by slow inch, and I hold onto his shoulders so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

Then, finally seated completely, he pauses. I almost fall over the edge right then and there, my muscles are tensing and flexing as I adjust to the intrusion. Warwick is breathing harshly over me, his hands trembling.

Slowly, the overwhelming sensation begins to fade, and my body relaxes.

“Move,” I breathe.

Warwick draws out and slides back in, shallow thrusts designed to get us both used to the sensations. With every movement, he pulls out further and goes in deeper, until my body begins to jolt with it, my hips meeting his every time.

Then he hits it, the place that makes stars explode across my vision, and I throw my head back with a guttural cry.

---