Page 26 of The Bloodfeather Promise
I couldn’t respond. How could I when he was hovering over me like a beautifully dangerous predator?
Before he moved to kiss me again, the tattoo inked across his left pectoral, right over his heart, captured my attention. How many times had I seen photos of it? I’d dreamed of touching it. I wanted to know the significance of it. Did it remind him of a girl? A certain event? I wondered where he had it done. At the same Sunset Strip tattoo shop where so many musicians frequently visited? Were there other tats hidden on his leanly muscled body? The tabloids said no, but fans and even non-music followers were insanely curious creatures. Greyson never offered a clue one way or another.
The crisp, black feather was roughly four inches long. No color. No words. Just a simple black feather, the quill poised as if to write something onto his flesh. What would he want etched across that broad, smooth expanse? The possibilities were endless. A lyric he might have jotted down on a cocktail napkin. A verse from one of his idol’s songs. Maybe even a poem. I could see him loving someone like Wordsworth. Or perhaps a modern-day poet like Tyler Gregson.
But, knowing his reputation, a curse word would be more likely.
Using my forefinger, I traced the feather’s outline, marveling over the realistic lines and shading. A tremor shook his body. It was so subtle, I wondered if I imagined it.
Ducking his head, Greyson slipped further down until his shoulders held my thighs open. I was bare to him. Vulnerable. His warm breath stirred the tidy strip of curls. I’d be his next meal and I didn’t mind if he feasted on me.
“Spread your legs.” He didn’t wait for my obedience. A long, calloused finger slipped inside me. All the way inside me.
“Oh…” The word escaped my lips in a shaky breath. For a brief moment, and I do mean brief, I stupidly considered stopping him. I didn’t. Greyson could do what he wished… and I wouldn’t object.
“Goddamn, you’re tight,” he muttered. A slight wetness coated his finger when he withdrew it, the sting easing a bit. I wiggled in desperation because even that tiny ache of discomfort felt amazing. It was shocking when he licked his forefinger before directing me, “Open your mouth.”
Dazed by the unexpected thrill his erotic action sent swirling through me like little currents of electricity, I parted my lips, unsure why until it was suddenly very clear.
“Suck.” His dark command was immediately obeyed. I sucked his finger like a recently tamed pet, tasting myself on the digit, wetting it until he tugged away from my mouth with a barely audible hiss.
One of his hands rose, encircling my throat, the heavy heat of it almost terrifying. He didn’t squeeze or push. He simply rested it there, fingers curling into the flesh just below my ear while on the opposite side, his thumb stroked up and down. It was strangely comforting, but my breathing still ratcheted upward in aroused response. All my attention stayed focused on how he caressed my neck until his free hand, and the finger just recently in my mouth slipped back between my legs.
A second finger joined the first, the increased moisture from our combined saliva easing the passage. His thumb began gently massaging the tiny bouquet of bunched nerves there, and I jerked helplessly as he played with me. My hips rose, seeking more. And more. Until I was standing on a cliff, staring into a fiery abyss, poised to either fall or fly. Greyson had electrified me. Turned me into a creature that welcomed the slight pressure of his palm against my throat, turned on by the threat of his power. It was embarrassingly quick, but I tumbled into pleasure so intense I quivered and cried out. Burned to ashes, completely at his mercy as I rode his hand.
“Shh,” Greyson soothed in a voice rough with need. “That’s it, my desperate, beautiful girl. How wet you are. So very soft. So sweet. I can’t wait to bury myself inside you. Can’t wait to feel you clenching around me. To hear you scream, just for me, while I fuck you.” Those wicked fingers of his never stopped, stroking and gliding in and out as the earthquake rattling my very bones reached a violent peak and began receding in dreamlike waves of satisfaction.
Slowly releasing my throat, his hand drifted downward until he clutched my hip with tight fingers, his palm almost grinding against the bone. He easily held me in place as I writhed in the aftermath of my orgasm, and I was content to be there. Dear God, his hands, his fingers. His dirty mouth. They were tools of addictive delight.
With dizzying clarity, I remembered the final solo Greyson played during the concert. The similarity between a woman’s shape and his guitar was a revelation. The imagery came alive when I recalled how one of his hands cradled the neck, the other resting on the swell of the instrument’s body.
When he began plucking out the tune, my heart soared along with the notes raining down on the audience. He played that guitar as if he both loved and hated it. As if it offended him, and yet, he might die without it. He played with fevered aggression, coaxing a sweetness from the instrument that strangely made me want to weep. And when he finished abusing it, the strings were given a final caressing strum. As if to say he was sorry.
Now, I felt like one of his instruments. Like I had been played by a master.
The heat of his mouth scorching my hipbone, teeth nipping the tender skin, reeled me back to him.
I was learning Greyson didn’t like it when my attention wandered.
“What am I to do with you, sweetheart? You came without my permission.” He licked the soft patch of skin just below my belly button. It was a sweep of fire hinting at things to come. “It was hot as fuck, but a stolen moment just the same.”
I wasn’t sure what I should say because what did he expect? That I’d wait for his permission to experience the most amazing orgasm I’d ever had in my life? I don’t think so.
“Are you always such a bad girl?”
His tongue swirled the rim of my belly button, sending frissons of delight to every nerve.
“No one’s ever called me that before...” My protest died as he flexed the fingers still buried inside me. God, if he moved them again, just so, I would explode again. But with a chuckle of lazy amusement, Greyson kept me right on the edge, never pushing me over, just letting me hover until I writhed and begged, just like he said I would.
“No? Would a good girl slap the fire out of me like you did earlier tonight? I doubt it. No, a good girl would run in the opposite direction. A smart girl would remove herself from the path of danger. You, sweetheart, with your fuck-me boots and fuck-me eyes, and that beautiful fuck-me mouth, you are definitely not a good girl.” His fingers continued plunging with methodical slowness. He watched me as if I were a new toy he was determined to break before moving onto the next.
“Maybe it’s only you that brings out that side of me.” Was this really retaliation for slapping him? No… no, this was something more. Something deeper. I had the horrible feeling he was testing me. Playing with me. Until he couldn’t seem to help himself and things would turn darker. More intense.
“Lucky me.” His teeth marked the inside of my thighs. He was rougher than he had been just moments ago, but sweet heavens, it felt amazing. “I told you to spread your legs, sweetheart. Don’t make me say it again.” His words slurred slightly. A churning haze of lust and possessiveness swirled in the hazel depths of his eyes when they met mine over the flat plane of my belly. Physical and chemical intoxication had finally mingled together in a lethal cocktail. I had no doubt it would culminate in the ride of my life.
I wished he was drunk on me. Just me.
He licked me and directed me. I shook and obeyed.
