Page 31 of Own

“Okay,” I whispered, almost afraid to say anything because the last thing I wanted him to do was stop. He slid two fingers down to glide right over the seam of my cunt.

I swore my inner muscles clenched so hard, that I was torn between grinding against him with my ass or just riding his hand. He kneaded my breast, but only until he encountered the peaked point of my nipple.

Then he pulled his hand from my panties and let go of my breast.

“Wait—” The protest burst out of me.

“Shh,” he said. “You didn’t say stop.”

But he fisted my shirt collar in each hand and then it just ripped open all the way down and fresh shivers raced over my skin.

The rough calluses of his palms glided over both of my breasts now and he didn’t tease or toy, he just tormented both nipples with tugs, pinches, and pulls. When I tried to roll my hips, he sank his teeth down on my throat. It wasn’t a bite so much as a hold. The promise of pain and a sting to ground me in reality.

“Please.” The shudders cascading through me now had nothing to do with fear or loathing.

Thankfully, he dropped his right hand back under my panties and he went straight for my clit. The roughness of his thick fingers were barely blunted by my own wetness. The pressure was absolute, his strokes demanding my absolute acquiescence and I just let it go as I bucked upward to ride those fingers.

When he eased the pressure just shy of my first orgasm, I wanted to scream. Then the bastard chuckled. The pinch of fresh pain on my nipple as he twisted it almost too much had me groaning for real.

The slip of his hand cupping me as those thick fingers found my entrance and he pushed inward. I clenched around them, so damn needy for the touch that one graze from the heel of his palm damn near set me off.

He adjusted his hand, stroking my breast and then across to the other as he began to thrust and then he added a slow, torturous circular stroke from his hand to my clit.

I tilted my head back, pressing it against his shoulder as he increased that delicious pressure. The tension threading me began to coil tighter and tighter.

“That’s it, Grace,” he said, his rough voice its very own caress. “Give it all to me. Every fucking drop. You’re going to come. Right now…”

He coupled action with order and the first orgasm burst over me. I clenched my teeth together to keep from making a sound, but he abandoned my breast to wrap his hand around my throat. At some point, he’d stopped biting.

My eyes were open but I strained to see him in the dark. He stroked his thumb along my pulse even as it rabbited while I shuddered from the release. He still had two fingers inside of me and his palm rested against my clit. Every little jerk from me seemed to add electricity to the contact.

“You’re going to come again.” Why did that sound like a threatanda promise? “This time, you’re going to let me hear you.”

He flexed his hand, the warmth of it held me captive but without any sense of terror. I’d much rather feel his hand than anyone else’s.

Suddenly, his mouth was right at my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. “You think of nothing else right now, just this—me touching you, and you soaking my hand as you come. I want to hear you Grace.”

Even if I couldn’t see him, I could feel him and he wasn’t kidding. He teased, stroked, and rubbed my clit until I was shaking and he didn’t let me come until the first cry burst from my throat.

Then he made me come again.

And again.

The light edged toward gray on the windows when he finally let me float. Not once had I gotten to do more than hold onto his forearm as he controlled everything—controlled me.

That’s how I finally slept again, wrapped up in Bones.

Chapter

Twelve

GRACE

With just four hours to go on the clock, Bones drove us up toward a stucco and clay house with shuttered windows painted a dull blue. It perched at the edge of the Rhône, south of Arles. While it seemed isolated, it was close enough to the city to keep it from being truly isolated.

Bones didn’t bother with Goblin’s leash here, just opened the door and let him get out to run. The puppy was the happiest I’d seen him in the past few days. He rolled, wiggled, and dashed around. Not that he went too far or ever got out of sight. No, he checked on us frequently and kept coming back before ranging out again.

“It’s almost like he’s scouting,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sun. It had put on an appearance after a couple of truly gray days.

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