Page 75 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
His head dips, lips brushing the inside of my thigh. A kiss, then another, then a slow sucking pull that makes me squirm.He trails a path higher, closer, and I can’t stay still. My thighs shift restlessly, my hips rolling without permission, chasing his mouth.
And then he’s there, settling between my thighs like he belongs. His lips part against me, pressing soft at first, his breath hot, his beard rough against my skin. He opens me with a gentle stroke of his tongue, one slow, devastating lick across my center. The sound that breaks from me is raw and helpless.
I force my eyes open, desperate to see him, and the sight steals whatever air I have left. Tate looks up at me through his lashes, eyes blazing, dark and dangerous. Needy. Possessive. Like the taste of me is already his addiction.
It’s wrecking, seeing him there. His broad shoulders framed between my thighs, his body ripped and defined, muscles flexing as he holds me down. All that strength, all that control, bent to the single purpose of ruining me, worshipping me. He’s devastating. He’s mine.
I grip the sheets and pull myself back and he wraps his hands around my thighs and pulls me to him, taking his time, licking, kissing, and making me feel so amazing.
He feels the way my body arches into him, the way I gasp and tremble, and his grip tightens on my hips. His fingers dig into me, holding me steady, as if he knows I might try to squirm away from the unbearable pleasure. His tongue slides deeper, stroking and circling, teasing and tormenting until every nerve in me is lit like wildfire.
Sensation shoots through me, sharp and sweet, tightening every muscle. My toes curl hard, pressing into the sheets, and I can barely breathe around the cries spilling from my lips. Heat coils low in my belly, building higher and higher, and I don’t know how much more I can take. His tongue is wicked, relentless, coaxing me to the edge again and again.
I gasp his name, broken and needy, and then he closes his lips around my clit. A sharp, deliberate nibble, just enough pressure, and I come undone. The explosion rips through me, blinding and unstoppable, shattering every last bit of control. Pleasure floods me in waves, violent and consuming, and my moans fill the night air.
When my vision clears, I find him looking up at me. Tate’s mouth is wet from me, his beard glistening, his eyes dark and fierce. Proud. He looks proud of what he just did to me, and so aroused it nearly breaks me open all over again. His chest heaves, his jaw clenched tight, like holding himself back is costing him everything.
But I can’t wait another moment. My body aches, desperate for more. Desperate for him. “Tate,” I whisper, voice ragged, “I need you inside me. Now.”
He rises, dragging his mouth from my skin with a groan, and his hands go to his belt. The clink of the buckle makes my pulse thunder. My eyes drop, following the movement as he pushes his trousers down his thighs, then his boxers.
My breath catches, my body trembling with anticipation. The sight of him, thick and long, flushed dark with arousal, steals every coherent thought from my head. The kind of sight that makes my mouth water, my body ache, my thighs clench with need. Veins rope along his shaft, and his tip is already slick, proof of how much he wants this, wants me.
It’s overwhelming, powerful, and somehow intimate, this moment of seeing him bare. He is beautiful in the most devastating, masculine way. And he’s mine.
Every inch of me burns with need. I want him. I want to feel him stretch me, fill me, ruin me completely.
I reach blindly for the bedside table, fumbling until my fingers close around the box. My hand is shaking as I tug a condom free and slide it out, passing it to him. Our fingersbrush, and the contact is electric, sharp enough to make my breath catch.
He tears the foil carefully with his teeth, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. The small sound of the rip is obscene in the silence, my pulse thundering so loud I can hear it in my ears. He spits the wrapper aside and grips himself, fist wrapping around his thick length.
I can’t look away. His arms flex with the movement, every muscle taut and defined, veins standing out along his forearms as he strokes once, then rolls the condom down. The latex stretches over him inch by inch, and I feel my thighs press together helplessly at the sight.
He’s so big, so hard, and the image of him covering himself while staring at me like I’m his whole world makes my mouth go dry. His eyes are molten, burning into me, dark with hunger and possession.
He pulls me close, entering me slowly, pushing and filling me until I feel fuller than I’ve ever been. God, it feels so good.
He presses against me, the broad head of him sliding at my entrance, and my breath catches in my throat. He pushes in slowly, achingly slow, stretching me inch by deliberate inch. My nails dig into his shoulders, my head falling back against the pillow as my body adjusts around the thick, heavy length of him.
The sensation is overwhelming. Full. Deep. Like he’s touching places inside me I didn’t even know existed. My thighs tremble, every muscle pulled taut, and a strangled moan slips past my lips.
He braces on his forearms, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The smell of him surrounds me with sweat, salt, woodsmoke, and man, and I breathe it in greedily, intoxicated. His jaw is tight, his brow furrowed, every line of his face etched with restraint as he holds himself back. The tension in him is electric, vibrating through me and making me ache even more.
He moves slow at first, rolling his hips, drawing almost all the way out before sliding back in. Teasing. Drawing out every flicker of sensation until I’m writhing beneath him, my legs locking around his waist. “More,” I gasp, nails raking down his back. “I need you.”
Something in him snaps. His hips drive harder, faster, his body pounding into mine with a rhythm that steals my breath. The bed creaks, my moans filling the air, and still his eyes stay locked on mine. The heat there is scorching, primal, as if he can’t get enough of watching me unravel beneath him.
Our fingers tangle together, his hands folding into mine, pinning them above my head. The move makes me gasp, makes me feel completely taken, completely his. Each thrust hits deeper, harder, until sparks explode behind my eyes.
I arch against him, my breasts crushed to his chest, the rough hair of his torso abrading my sensitive skin in the most delicious way. Every inch of him is on me, in me, surrounding me. The rhythm builds, sweat slick between our bodies, breath mingling, his growls vibrating against my throat as he buries his face there, biting, sucking, tasting.
He shifts suddenly, rolling us so I straddle him, his cock still buried deep. My palms flatten on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the frantic beat of his heart under my hands. His hands grip my hips tight, guiding me as I rock over him, the friction unbearable and perfect.
I ride him, losing myself in the motion, the slide of his length filling me again and again, each thrust dragging me closer to the edge. His eyes burn into mine, dark and feral, watching me take my pleasure, watching me come apart.
Heat coils low in my belly, sharper this time, and I chase it desperately, moving harder, faster, my moans rising higher with every thrust. His thumb presses between my thighs, finding myswollen clit, rubbing tight circles as he drives up into me. The combination destroys me.
The climax tears through me, violent and unstoppable. My body shakes, clamping around him, cries spilling raw and helpless from my throat. I shudder over him, lost, undone, every nerve alight.
