Page 3 of Love the Way You Lion
His eyes are golden when I pull back, and he tilts his head to allow me to nibble along the scars that are forming there. “Bloody hell, woman, now Iknowyou’re trying to get me riled up.”
My laugh is husky and I grind against him again, tossing my hair and arching into his hands. “I thought you weren’t great with the subtle.”
“I have my moments.” He pinches my rear, and I jump.
“Ow! That hurt!” I glare, looking put out.
“That was on purpose.” His hands roam over me and I watch his eyes follow them.
“Is there a problem, dear? You sound worked up.”
“That outfit’s hot, but a bit of a puzzler. Where’s the hidden spot, I wonder? I hate to ruin it with my usual rip and tear,” he murmurs.
I grin. “There’s the rub, I fear. You are a tummy man—so help me, I’ll slice something off if you laugh at me for this—and I wanted to wear something special. This is the only thing I have that shows off this much stomach, so I wore it. It’s not the easiest thing to maneuver.”
“It’s unbearably hot in here, pet. I adore the outfit, but it’s a little too much clothing for my liking. Care to fill me in?” His grin stretches from cheek to cheek, and I can’t help but wonder how many people have indulged him like this because he’s thrilled by just an ensemble.
I return his smile, arching my back and reaching behind my head with both hands. Grasping the lycra at the nape of my neck, I stretch the fabric and pull it over my head, sliding my arms out of the thin straps. As I discard it, the material gathers around my waist, leaving me exposed from the waist up. “Better?”
“Definitely. I thought you might have hidden a tricky clasp or something.” His hands wander over my body, fingertips brushing over a nipple as he lowers his lips to nip playfully at my shoulder. The sensation causes me to let out a low moan.
“No secrets here. Just a few bends and twists, and it’s off. Keep caressing me, baby. Don’t stop.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Blade.”
My arousal intensifies as I feel his growing hardness pressing against me through our remaining clothing. Desperate for more intimate contact, I reach down to free him from the confines of his pants.
As I wrap my fingers around his cock, he slips his hand between my legs and finds my wetness. His fingers delve into me as I stroke him in rhythm with our kisses and moans.
“I want to be skin on skin with you, Rafe. I need you inside me.”
“Sounds like a perfect plan to me.” His hand continues to explore my pussy, brushing my aching clit over and over.
“Rafe, yes... don’t stop,” I moan, my voice heavy with desire. My heart races as the fingers of his other hand trail along my bare skin.
“I won’t,” he growls, kissing me deeply as he pulls me even closer. Our bodies press tightly together, every inch of our skin connecting in the most intense way possible.
His touch ignites a fire within me that spreads through my core and outward, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. His every move is met with a gasp or a moan as we move together in perfect harmony.
As his dick drives into me faster and harder, his lips find my neck, suckling and nipping at my delicate skin. Our hunger fills the room like a living thing, consuming us both in its intensity.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
Our climaxes approach, we are two souls united by desire and need. The primal sounds that escape our lips as we surrender to each other get louder as the shivers tickle my skin. Our kisses growfrenzied, each brush of his lips against mine leaving me yearning for more. We’re two people dancing around an open flame, feeding off each other’s heat and desire until we can contain it no longer.
With a loud cry that reverberates off the walls, our bodies collide in a climax so powerful it damn near shakes the furniture. Nothing exists in that moment but the fiery pull that drew us together repeatedly. While we come down from our high, we lay panting and sweaty but completely satisfied—something I haven’t been in such a long time that I have no idea what to do about it.
I’m in such fucking trouble with this man.
The Cat Pines And The Bird Whines
DELILAH
The rhythmic patter of rain against the windowpane provides a soothing counterpoint to my focused efforts. Curled snugly in a blanket, I watch the liquid jewels race each other down the glass, as I wrestle with the yarn in my hands. Each stitch is a tiny battle, my fingers fumbling more often than not. The temptation to magically wave it all into perfection is there—a whisper at the back of my mind that feels like cheating—which is a shortcut I’m willing to take.
With every pull and loop, I wrinkle my nose, silently willing the yarn to cooperate. It stubbornly refuses to become the neat squares I envision, resembling instead a colorful tangle of good intentions. Crafting by hand appeared so simple when observed from a distance; in reality, however, it’s proving to be quite the crafty adversary.
As the notes of Beethoven’sMoonlight Sonataswirl through the room, mingling with the warm glow of candles, I feel him approach. My concentration breaks, and relief washes over me in agentle wave. Setting aside the half-formed squares, I look up, my soft smile an involuntary response to his presence.
