Page 47 of Reaper
Then his mouth finds mine, and the world explodes into sensation. The kiss is desperate, hungry — months of grief and rage channeling into pure need. His lips move against mine with an urgency that matches my own, and I lose myself in the taste of him, the way his stubble scrapes against my skin.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. But before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on mine again, deeper this time, more demanding. My hands fist in his shirt as I pull him closer, needing more contact, more of everything he's offering.
The third kiss leaves us both shaking. We pull apart slowly, reluctantly, our faces still so close I can feel his breath against my lips. Those bright eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left. In their depths, I see the same desperate hunger that's clawing at my insides, the same need to forget everything except this moment.
"Adriana," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.
I'm drowning in those eyes, in the want I see reflected there. Every wall I've built, every defense I've carefully constructed — they're crumbling under the weight of this desire. I don't want to be the controlled, calculating woman who's spent months hunting him. I don't want to be the grieving sister or the hardened ex-cop. I just want to feel something other than pain.
"Take off your clothes," I breathe, the words escaping before I can stop them.
His pupils dilate, and I watch his throat work as he swallows hard. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion.
My breath catches in my throat. His chest is a canvas of ink and scars, tattoos telling stories I can only guess at. The lean muscle beneath his skin shifts as he moves, and I feel an answering pull deep in my core. My eyes trace the lines of his torso, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans.
"More," I whisper, my voice hoarse with want.
His hands move to his belt, fingers working the leather with deliberate slowness. The soft sound of the buckle coming undone sends heat spiraling through me. When he pushes his jeans down his hips, I can't suppress the soft gasp that escapes my lips.
The sight of him completely bare and wanting me sends liquid fire through my veins. My body responds with an intensity that surprises me—I can feel how wet I've become just from watching him, from the hunger in his eyes as he looks at me.
Unable to stop myself, my hand drifts down my body. I arch slightly as my fingers find the slick heat between my thighs, a soft moan escaping my lips at the contact. His eyes darken as he watches me touch myself, his breathing becoming more ragged.
"Goddamn, Adriana," he breathes, his voice rough with desire.
I withdraw my fingers, glistening with evidence of my arousal, and hold my hand out to him. “Taste it. Open your mouth and fucking taste me.”
Without hesitation, he leans forward and takes my fingers into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue as it swirls around my fingertips sends shockwaves straight through my core. He sucks gently, thoroughly sucking every trace of my arousal from my skin while his eyes stay locked on mine. The sight of his lips wrapped around my fingers, the feel of his tongue — it's almost enough to undo me right there.
When he releases my hand, his voice is rough with desire. "That was a good preview, but I want more. I want to taste you for real."
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine again. This kiss is different — deeper, hungrier, filled with a desperate need that matches my own. His tongue slides against mine as his hands frame my face, fingers tangling in my hair. I can taste myself on his lips, and it only makes me want him more.
We kiss like we're drowning, and each other's breath is the only thing that can save us. Long, sensual, consuming kisses that leave me gasping and clinging to him. His mouth moves against mine with a skill that makes my toes curl, alternating between gentle exploration and demanding possession.
When we finally break apart, I'm trembling. My lips feel swollen, my skin flushed and hypersensitive. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screaming for more contact, more of his touch.
"Reaper," I breathe against his lips. “I need your tongue on my pussy right now.”
His eyes flash with something primal at my words. Without warning, his hands are on my shoulders, pushing me back against the mattress with a gentle but insistent pressure that makes my breath catch. The cool sheets contrast with the heatof my flushed skin as he positions himself above me, his body caging me in.
"Then that's exactly what you're going to get," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones.
He starts at my lips, pressing soft kisses that gradually become more heated before he begins his torturous descent. His mouth finds the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I gasp as he lavishes attention there with his tongue and teeth. The scrape of his stubble against my neck sends electricity shooting through my nervous system.
"God, you taste incredible," he whispers against my throat, his breath hot and moist on my skin.
His lips trail lower, finding the hollow at the base of my neck where my pulse hammers wildly. He takes his time there, alternating between gentle kisses and the barest scrape of teeth that has me arching beneath him. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle as he continues his methodical exploration.
When his mouth reaches my chest, I'm already trembling. He cups one breast in his palm while his lips worship the other, tongue circling my nipple with maddening slowness. The dual sensation of his warm hand and hot mouth has me gasping his name.
"Reaper, forget about my tits, I want your tongue on my pussy.”
He lifts his head, those bright eyes meeting mine with a wicked glint. "Patience," he murmurs, his voice carrying a dominant edge that sends a thrill through me. "I'm going to take my time with you."
Before I can protest, his mouth is moving lower, trailing kisses down my ribs with deliberate slowness. Each press of his lips against my heated skin feels like a brand, marking me as his.My breathing becomes more ragged as he works his way down my body, his hands following the path his mouth blazes.
When he reaches my hip bone, he lavishes attention there, his tongue tracing patterns that have me writhing beneath him. I try to guide him lower with my hands, but he catches my wrists gently, pinning them at my sides.
