Page 73 of The Reaper's Vow
The wet stroke of his tongue sends electricity coursing through my body. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as he laves and sucks at the sensitive peak. His other hand continues its exploration, tracing patterns down my ribs, across my stomach, to the waistband of the borrowed leggings.
“These need to go,” he says against my skin, hooking his fingers under the elastic.
I lift my hips, helping him slide the leggings down my legs until I’m left in nothing but a pair of simple cotton panties. His attention devours me like I’m his last meal as he runs his hands up my bare thighs. I shiver under his touch, my body already responding to him in ways I can’t control.
“I've dreamt of having you like this. Spread out beneath me. Mine for the taking.”
“Then take me,” I whisper, reaching for him. “I don't want to wait anymore.”
In one swift movement, he hooks his fingers into my panties and tears them clean off me. The sound of ripping fabric fills the air as the shredded cotton lands somewhere across the room.
“Sorry,” he growls, not looking sorry at all. “I'll buy you more.”
I laugh breathlessly, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I think I can forgive you.”
His large hands gently push my thighs further apart, and I feel completely exposed. Instead of feeling vulnerable, I feel powerful.
“You're still wearing too much,” I say, reaching for the button of his jeans.
He lets me work the button free, but when I try to hook my fingers in the waistband of his jeans, he captures my wrists, pinning them gently above my head.
“Not yet.” His free hand trails down my body with deliberate slowness. “I want to taste you first.”
My breath catches as his meaning becomes clear.
“Trust me,” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist where my pulse thrums wildly. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.”
His mouth begins a torturous journey down my body. Kissing and nipping at my throat, lavishing attention on my breasts until I'm writhing beneath him, then moving lower across my ribs, my stomach. When he settles between my thighs, his broad shoulders force my legs wider, and I think I might die from anticipation.
The first touch of his tongue against my most sensitive flesh makes me cry out, my back arching off the mattress. He groans against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my system.
“So fucking sweet,” he growls between long, languid strokes that have me gasping his name. “I could spend hours between your thighs.”
I lose myself in the sensation—his mouth working me with single-minded devotion, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady as I writhe beneath him. The tension coiling in my core builds to an unbearable peak as his tongue works against me with devastating precision. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me as waves of pleasure crash through my system.
“Damien, I can't—” My words dissolve into a broken moan as he increases the pressure, his mouth relentless in its pursuit of my release.
“Give it to me,” he rasps against my thigh, his breath hot, voice low and rough like gravel dragged over velvet. “Every last fucking drop.”
The demand rips through me like a live wire, and I unravel, body seizing, breath punched from my lungs as pleasure crashes into me hard and fast. My vision whites out, hips jerking against his mouth as my orgasm tears through me, fierce and unrelenting. I’m trembling, overstimulated, and wrung out, every nerve stripped raw.
Through the haze, I feel intense satisfaction rolling off him. He licks through the aftershocks with cruelty, drawing it out until I’m a twitching mess beneath him.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth is slick, his chin wet, and his eyes burn like he just won a war. He prowls up my body. His mouth crashes against mine, tongue slick with my taste, and it makes my stomach clench all over again.
“I’m not done with you,” I breathe against his lips, reaching for his jeans. My fingers find the button, and this time, he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t speak. Just holds still like he wants to see how far I’ll go, how desperate I’ll get.
I shove the denim down his hips. He lifts, granting silent permission. The thin black briefs do nothing to disguise the sheer size of him—thick, flushed, already straining.
My mouth goes dry and he doesn’t move. Just lets me take him in.
“Second thoughts?” he asks, the sound roughened by restraint.
This powerful man, this killer who terrifies entire packs, is worried about my reaction to him.
“Never,” I breathe, cupping his face with both hands. “I want you, Damien. All of you.”
Something breaks in his expression, raw emotion flooding his features before he crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss isdesperate as if he's trying to pour everything he can't say into the connection between our lips.
