Page 207 of Buried in Blood
She lifts her head just enough to glance at me, half-lidded and dangerous. “You’re insatiable.”
“I was starving for years.” I slide my hand over the curve of her ass, then grip it. “Let me eat.”
She rolls onto her back, legs already parting like muscle memory. “Then don’t talk.”
I don’t.
I press my mouth to her collarbone, sucking until I feel her arch beneath me. She claws at my shoulder blades as I trail lower, dragging my tongue down the center of her chest, between the swell of her breasts, until I reach her stomach.
She gasps when I bite the inside of her thigh.
She moans when I kiss it better.
And she screams when I finally taste her.
Her hips jerk, but I pin them down. I want every whimper. Every tremble. Every fucking drop.
She tries to twist away when the second orgasm hits. Tries to push my head back.
I don’t let her.
“Reese—fuck, I—”
“Take it,” I growl against her.
She does.
When I finally move up her body, she’s trembling, her legs still twitching. I kiss her hard. She tastes like me and sin and softness I never deserved.
And when I push inside her, she drags her nails down my back like she wants to tear me open and crawl inside.
Good.
She already lives there.
We move slow. Deep.
This isn’t about release. It’s about reverence.
She clutches me like I’m her anchor.
I fuck her like she’s my salvation.
When we both fall apart, it’s not clean. It’s sweat and breath and curses whispered into skin.
It’s perfect.
We lie there tangled for a while, her chest rising against mine.
“I need to take you somewhere,” I murmur eventually.
She groans. “Please don’t say breakfast. I can’t walk yet.”
I grin. “Later. But this is important.”
She opens one eye. “What is it?”
I pull back the sheet and gesture to her thigh.
