Page 85 of Bound
He lets out a deep throated rumble and the vibration spears into my core. I shake as my limbs tingle.
“Gage,” I gasp.
His palms dig into my rear, spreading me more as he moves to the bud at my apex. He swirls his tongue over it, sliding along the sensitive nerves around the base. Darkness dances at the edge of my vision, and a ripple moves through my core.
“Gage,” I try again, fervent.
The swirls turn to flicks and brief suckles, each one pooling more heat deep into my center and leaving me speechless. The pleasure arcs like a wave, rippling through me again. I hold him tighter to me, rocking my hips and letting his tongue lave over and over and over and—
The waves reach a crescendo and my core clenches hard. Pleasure soaks my body in that soft pink warmth. I writhe and shake, knees flexing inward like I can hold the glorious feeling inside even as my core tightens again and again.
He laps at me still, spearing and tasting as more masculine sounds pour from his throat. I jerk. “Gage. Please.”
Through a haze, I watch as he stands. With one motion, he pulls his shirt from his body, exposing a torso carved of moonlit muscle and those beautiful dark lines that run from the broad line of his shoulders to his wrists. His hair is disheveled from my fingers and his mouth red.
He wipes his lips with his shirt and tosses it aside, face devoid of a smile.
No, his expression is tight, almost pained. My vision clears.
“Gage?”
His fingers drop to his jeans and I swallow.
The material slides down his wider hips, over his muscular thighs, and down to pool on the floor. Only thin black material covers his body now, the fabric holding a shiny cast.
He slips them down too, exposing his length as it bobs with the motion.
My throat works hard as I swallow.
I was right in thinking him large in every sense of the word. But like his hips, he is more wide and carved from the purest alabaster where he rides out from his body. Save for the sweet pink of the tip.
“Take the gown off, Amoret,” he commands.
I lean up, sure my hair is a fright. But I strip the ruined lace and silk off and let it fall to the floor.
“Walk to the bathroom.”
I blink. “What—”
His hands fist. “Now.”
Uncertain once more, I climb on weak legs from the bed and move toward the open doorway. His rumble behind me leaves my insides quivering anew.
“Into the shower.” I turn to ask him why. “Press your palms to the wall, Amoret.” His tone is even deeper, like thunder.
Truly confused, I open the glass stall and step onto the cold tile. I press my hands to the wall. He eases in behind me; his body heat dispels the chill in the air. There is a slight creak and warm water flows over me. The temperature drops again as he changes that too.
I shiver. “Gage. It’s cold.”
His hands grip my hips in answer, picking me up as he wedges something under my feet. It raises me higher off the floor. I glance down to find a stool from somewhere, the plastic already slick with water under my feet. Heat washes over me, the change scalding compared to the shower. One long finger trails down the curve of my rear before slipping along my slit. I rock back, seeking his touch.
He glides his finger against my opening. It plunges inside me.
My spine arches and I cry out, the sound echoing off the walls. The intrusion blankets me in heat, in want.
His long finger pumps into my sheath, the motion a mimic to what his tongue did earlier. As my body quickens again, I can’t help but move in his hold, seeking that pleasure again. His breathing is harsh behind me, fast. It only adds to the whirlwind of sensation.
Hot and cold. Gage’s scent. Mine. Our breathing so ragged.
