Page 60 of Campfires & Canines
I can barely answer. "Yes,"
His hand slips lower, lightly skimming over me. It's maddening.
"Please," I beg again.
I reach for his waistband, but he grabs my hand. Weaving our fingers, he presses them above my head.
"Patience," he says.
His kisses journey down my chest. He tugs on my bra with his teeth, pulling it the rest of the way down and covering me with his mouth.
He has total control over me. I writhe against him, all rational thought lost. He pauses, eyes lit from within. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to take off your damn pants,” I growl, shocking myself, but I can’t stand any more teasing.
He smirks but lifts off me. I unbutton my jeans, but falter when he eases his sweatpants down. I’m starving, looking at a feast.
I try to sit up and reach for him, but he tugs my jeans down, pulling my ass out from under me so I’m flat on my back again. Then he’s over me, skin to skin, only my underwear between us.
“You are so beautiful,” he hums. I’m overwhelmed by the taste of him, the feeling of his chest against mine. I can’t tell if the hammering pulse in my skin is mine or his.
He rocks his body against me, his length pressing hard against my last bit of clothing. I swear I will stop wearing undergarments from this point on.
I want to tear them off, reach for him, anything. But my hands are locked around his biceps like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me afloat.
Every one of my nerves is on fire. I’m pretty sure I’m being electrocuted as he grinds against me. Everything is wound so tight, my nails dig into his muscles.
With a growl, he scrapes his teeth down the side of my neck, from the sensitive spot under my jaw down to my collarbone, as his hips rock against me.
Stars explode behind my eyes. I try to hold on, but there is no resisting. His mouth sucks the juncture of my neck and shoulder and that’s the last straw. I moan out his name like a curse, my back arching and hips bucking against him involuntarily.
I barely notice his mouth shifting lower or his teeth sinking into muscle. I’m too blissed out.
Chest heaving, my senses start to return to earth.
I smile at Slate, only to see his eyes wide. His hand presses to the spot he marked. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice tight and words clipped.
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing his hair back from his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Hold on.” He places my hand over the spot and presses down before scrambling up and darting towards the bedroom doorway.
Trying to not panic over his reaction, I scoot back and pull myself upright. Only then do I feel the wetness. I run my fingers down my neck and over the shoulder muscle and they come away bright red.
“Oh,” I say dumbly.
Slate’s back, pressing a towel to the spot. I flinch at the pressure. A throbbing pain blooms from the spot, as if my awareness was the cause of the hurt.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be,” I try to take the towel from him, but he won’t let me.
“I should have thought about this.”
“Thought about what?” I lean my head back, closing my eyes as the discomfort heightens.
“You’re human. You don’t heal as fast. Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”
“It’s all good,” I mumble, trying to stay still.
