Page 52 of Reaper
“Prove it.”
I reach for her, pushing her shoulders back against the pillows. Her eyes widen in surprise, but before she can say anything, I crush my mouth against hers. The kiss is hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue and need. When I pull away, she's breathing hard.
I don't give her time to catch her breath. I move down her body, my hands spreading her thighs apart as I settle between them.
"What? No warm-up?" she gasps, her voice pitched higher than usual. "You're just diving face-first into my pussy?"
"Shut up," I growl against her inner thigh. "I know what I'm doing."
She makes a little scoffing sound that pisses me off and turns me on at the same time. Like she's challenging me, doubting me.
That decides it.
I grab the sheet and tear it into strips with more violence than necessary. Her eyes go wide as I wrap one piece around her head, covering her eyes.
"Reaper, what are you — "
I tie her wrists to the headboard with the makeshift restraints, pulling them tight enough that she can't move but not tight enough to hurt her. Much.
"This is ridiculous," she says. I roll my eyes and spot her black lace panties crumpled on the floor from last night. Perfect.
I stuff them into her mouth before she can finish whatever smart-ass comment she was about to make.
I can see the shift in her eyes above the makeshift blindfold — the way they widen with surprise and something darker. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can tell she's trying to work out what game I'm playing now.
"You want slow? You want a warm-up? Fine. But remember: you asked for this."
I start at her ankles, pressing soft kisses to the delicate skin there. My lips barely graze her, just enough contact to make her squirm against her restraints. I can feel her pulse jumping under my mouth as I work my way up her calf with deliberate slowness, my tongue tracing lazy patterns that make her muscles tense.
My cock is already hard, pressing insistently against my stomach as I take my time exploring every inch of her legs. The sound of her muffled breathing through the panties in her mouth is driving me crazy, but I force myself to go slower.
I spend what feels like hours on her thighs, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer pressure, never quite reaching where she wants me most. Her hips buck upward, seeking contact, but I pull back each time, chuckling at her frustrated whimper.
"Patience," I murmur against her skin, and I can feel the vibration of her growl of annoyance.
When I finally move higher, bypassing her center entirely to kiss along her hipbones, she actually snarls behind the gag. Her whole body is trembling now, skin flushed and slick with perspiration. I'm so hard it's almost painful, but watching her come apart under my deliberately torturous pace is worth the ache.
I map every curve of her torso with my mouth, paying special attention to the sensitive spots that make her arch against me — the hollow of her throat, the underside of her breasts, the soft skin just below her ribcage. By the time I reach her nipples, she's practically vibrating with need.
The taste of her skin — salt and something uniquely Adriana — has me drunk with desire. Every small sound she makes goes straight to my groin, and I have to grip the sheets to keep from losing control and taking her hard and fast like every instinct is screaming at me to do.
Instead, I continue my methodical worship of her body, determined to prove that she was dead wrong about being able to do this better herself.
When I finally settle between her legs, I can see how wet she already is, and the sight makes my mouth water. But I'm not done torturing her yet. I start with the lightest possible touch, just the tip of my tongue barely grazing her outer lips. The contact is so minimal it's almost nothing, but her whole body jerks like I've hit her with electricity.
The muffled sound she makes behind the gag is desperate, pleading. I do it again, another whisper-soft lick, and her hips thrust upward seeking more pressure. I pull back, denying her what she wants.
"Not yet," I murmur against her thigh, my breath making her shiver.
I continue the slow torture, alternating between barely there licks and soft kisses around her most sensitive areas without ever giving her the direct contact she's craving. Her breathing becomes ragged, and I can hear muffled whimpers and what sounds like attempts at begging through the makeshift gag.
My control is hanging by a thread. The taste of her, even these teasing samples, has me harder than I've ever been. But watching her come undone, seeing her tough exterior completely shattered by need — it's addictive.
Finally, when she's practically sobbing with frustration, I give her what we both desperately want. I press my tongue flat against her and lick slowly from bottom to top, savoring every inch. The taste explodes across my senses — sweet and musky and perfect. Her back arches so violently I think she might snap in half.
I lose myself in her then, my tongue exploring every fold, every sensitive spot that makes her cry out behind the gag. The sounds she makes drive me wild — desperate moans and muffled screams of pleasure that go straight to my cock. I love the way her body responds to me, the way her muscles tense and release, the way she tastes on my tongue.
My hands map the curves of her body as I work, marveling at the contrast between her soft skin and the hard muscle underneath. She's beautiful and deadly, and right now she's completely at my mercy.
