Page 29 of Fever
A deep growl spreads prickles all over me. Jerking my head, he trails me by the hair to the bed with possessive control. Quickly letting go, he seizes my hand, forcing it to clamp his hardened cock. “Is this what you want? Or do you need my tongue inside you?”
I flinch, yanking my hand free because it feels utterly divine. “Why are you doing this to me?”
His eyes darken with a density that matches the grim jungle at midnight. He stuffs fingers into the hair at my nape, snapping our foreheads together. “Because you’re intoxicating, and I haven’t craved a woman in so long.” His tone drops to a husky murmur. My stomach burns. “And because we both want it, you and I.”
With that admission, he shoves me onto the bed and clambers on top. My fists pound brawny, flexed muscles toughened like armor and unaffected by punches. Teeth nip and bite my tingly flesh. I moan as a wave of excitement crashes over me. The weak protest subsides when he stoops into my neck and inhales, breathing me into his lungs. If I weren’t so furious, I’d be gushing over his reverence. I shudder at the sensation of his cock prodding my hipbone.
“I hate you,” I whisper when he finds slick heat with exploring fingertips.
“But this”—he pushes a finger in deeper, so I shiver with the wicked sensation of iniquity versus pleasure—“this you like,” he bites out with a sting of venom to match my own.
A second finger joins the first. I notice how he snatches a breath as they glide in with ease. Naturally tensing, my mind begs for mercy. The wicked intrusion bursts millions of devilish tingles over my scalp. It’s a sinful secret that no one will ever learn of. Only this man and I will know what has happened here, making it easier to believe it's a figment of my imagination. An unrighteous act that I’m hungry for. That I’ll store in the darkest depth of my insanity.
My groan of indulgence chills searing blood. Teeth sink into my nipple. I cry out, convulsing in gluttony and resentment.
Our lips never meet. Our gaze never breaks. Our hatred never lessens. Yet furious passion thrives when I relent to the mania hissing under my skin, and he rewards it with overbearing control.
My icy resolve thaws under his dominance, misted in sweat and pliable to his every rough touch. The beast within him snarls, directing masterful fingers to everything beneath my throat. He squeezes my breasts and sucks the flesh into his mouth as if he hasn’t devoured a woman in years. It’s demanding and immoral to witness the loss of his self-preservation. As I relinquish, he gives in to his own hysteria with thick grunts and flared nostrils.
What I relish in pain, he then sweetens with pleasure. Messy waves hang to his eyes, fringing the wildness in his gaze.
“Kiss me,” I beg, lifting higher when he positions himself between my knees. “That’s what I want from you.”
The ache scorching through my core sets alight my regrets. It’s too late for me now. Roaring skin branded like flames presses down on my ribcage, effectively halting the silly urge. Trapped beneath him, my spine molds into the mattress, and he lowers his face. I gasp, clawing at the sheet as the wildness breaks free. I skip over our mutual hatred when his teeth graze the sensitive bundle of nerves.
I lose sight of tomorrow.
I disregard self-respect.
Because I have nowhere to hide when he’s roaming freely in my mind, savagely occupying my body with tortured fingers and demolishing me with a felonious tongue. It's true, I wanted this, and now I have to figure out how to deal with it in the morning.
He looks up, and instantly our gazes fuse. In that second of insanity, I lose myself in his authority, his zingy scent, and his primitive arousal as he rises over me.
Flesh to flesh.
Danger to sanctuary.
I catch a tinge of his vulnerability when I suck flawed fingers into my mouth and taste myself blended with his unique flavor. That unexpected find, a wisp of amity, nudges me deeper into the forbidden world we’ve spawned.
His hand returns to the apex of my thighs. A fierce orgasm catches me off guard when he circles the highly sensitive, swollen flesh. It crashes through me like a devastating cyclone.
I come for him. Hard. Furious. Extraordinary.
My tingly skin is alive.
My heart thumps out of time.
My lashes bat like butterfly wings, hastily retreating from a threat.
I never knew torture could feel so incredible.
In the aftermath of frantic pleasure, he bears down on my wrists and stares into my eyes. Ferocious green to uncertain brown.
“Can I trust you, beija flor?” The urgency fastened to that question screams of despair.
He’s been hurt. This man seeks one genuine quality. It’s not adoration or a physical connection.
El Fantasma craves loyalty.
