Page 60 of Ravaged
“Tonight, I told Daniel I couldn’t see him any longer.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak. Yet my heart pounds in my chest, and the beat grows louder, the volume so deafening I can barely hear my own voice.
“It wouldn’t have been fair,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he asks, and that dark, low timbre is midnight and sin. Temptation wrapped in sex.
“You know why.”
He bends his head the scant inches separating us and only stops when his mouth hovers a breath above mine. “Say it,” he orders, his lips so close they nearly brush mine.
“Because he isn’t you.”
Jordan doesn’t move, and I can taste his kiss, but he doesn’t eliminate the remaining space between us. Doesn’t take my mouth and give me what I can now admit I came here for. No, instead he stares at me, his expression inscrutable. Unease twists inside me, and for the first time since he placed me on his lap, I want to climb off, insert space between us.
“We’re going to fuck,” he states, and while the word sends a lightning bolt of heat straight between my legs, it tightens the screw on my unease, deepens it. Because his tone is flat, almost disconnected.
“Yes.” We are. I need him tonight. And I won’t be able to stop at a kiss. I’m too empty, too hungry. I haven’t felt complete since the last time he filled me.
“And I’m going to be your mistake.” His fingers thread through my hair, sifting before fisting the curls and bringing them to his nose. He inhales, his eyes closing and, for a moment, freeing me from their hold. It’s in this instant that a flicker of emotion flashes across his face. Pleasure. Pain. Both. But when his lashes lift, his expression is back to being a mask of inscrutability. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m still going to fuck you. I find I’m so goddam desperate to be inside you I’m willing to have you any way I can. But I just want to make sure I know where we stand.”
Oh God.
Regret pierces me in the chest, sliding between my ribs like the sharpest blade. I have a lot to answer for. The latest being from a couple of nights ago. I run the moments after our kiss through my head. I never called him a mistake, never said I regretted what happened on my couch. But viewing my actions, my silence, through his lens, I can seehow he’d interpret them that way. And coupled with how I friend-zoned him after the first time we had sex, callingthata mistake ... well, damn.
Briefly closing my eyes, I hate myself for causing this bold, beautiful man even a second of self-doubt. He’s no one’s mistake. No one’s regret. And I can tell him that. I could write him a fucking sonnet about that.
Or I could show him.
Maneuvering out of his arms, I straighten, straddling him. But only for a moment. I slide down his big body, shifting until I’m kneeling between his powerful, toned thighs.
“What the ...? Miriam.” His hands cup my shoulders, and a glance up his torso reveals he’s lost that enigmatic expression. It’s replaced by a mixture of shock and stark lust. His eyes, bright as a summer sky, are hooded, and his thin nostrils are flared. That full carnal mouth is pulled into a taut line, and he shakes his head. “What are you doing? This isn’t ...”
“Shh.”
I stroke my hands up his legs, and when I reach the juncture where his thighs and torso meet, I angle inward, skating my palms over the rock-hard, thick length of his cock. My breath whistles out of my parted lips, and my belly spasms, echoing in my sex. Curling my fingers over the top of his sweatpants, I tug the waistband down, baring him. Andholy hell, he’s not wearing any underwear. God, he’s every woman’s fantasy.
No, screw that. I don’t care about anyone else.
He’smyfantasy.
With barely any coaxing, his dick pokes above the band, the head stretching to almost kiss his navel. My feminine flesh flutters, both in anticipation and a little anxiety. I’ve had him inside me—several times, as a matter of fact—and yet each time had required a little bit of time and patience. Because Jordan is a fuckingbeast.
And I loved every stretching, burning second of it.
A wide, aching pit yawns at the bottom of my stomach, and I’m insatiable.
Circling his flesh with both fists, I arrow him toward my mouth and swallow as much of him as I can take. His cock slides along my tongue, the tip bumping the back of my throat. His groan caresses my ears, and I ease him out, then pump him with my hands. As soon as he clears my lips, I brush a kiss along the engorged, plum-shaped head and lift my gaze to him again.
Passion has incinerated all vestiges of shock from his face, and his eyes gleam. Without breaking his visual hold, I trail my lips down his cock, releasing him only long enough to yank his sweatpants farther out of the way. Then I retrace my path with my tongue.
His lush mouth seems fuller against the lust stamped on his features. Shifting his hands from my shoulders, he drives them into my hair, gripping my hair in his big fists, knuckles pressing into my scalp.
On the tail end of a moan, I follow his silent but very clear instructions, and I lower my head again. His cock breaches my lips, and I allow him inside. His snarl rips through the air like an enraged animal, and the sound rumbles over my skin, breasts ... clit. My sex clamps down around emptiness and quivers in complaint. Whimpering, I suck and lick him, my hands stroking faster, harder. Yes, my actions telegraph the rise in my need, the delirium crawling through my blood. What started as a demonstration of my feelings for him has swept me up, and the threads of my control are thinning, unraveling.
I raise higher on my knees, the better to take more of him. And his hands guide, lifting and lowering me over his cock, then holding me still while he feeds me how much he wants to give me. Shifting, I squeeze my thighs together, attempting to alleviate the ache high and deep inside me. A place experience has taught me with startling and vivid detail only he can reach and satisfy.
His tip nudges the back of my throat once more, and I inhale through my nose, relaxing and permitting him entrance into the narrow channel.
