Page 87 of Hart of Vengeance
He tensed, his abs tightening beneath my hands.
“If you hurt me, I will kill you.” I wasn’t teasing. I would die a thousand deaths if he walked away again.
He didn’t laugh either. Instead, he traced the outline of the bandage on my chest before his fingers landed on my chin. “If I do, I’ll give you the knife.” His tone was deathly serious and so was the look in his eyes.
As if those were the magic words I needed, I started to undo his belt.
He stopped me. “Maybe we should wait until you’re healed. I don’t want to physically hurt you.”
“I’ve taken pain meds. And I know you’ll be gentle.” I was sure the doctor wouldn’t think sex was taking it slow. But I trusted Denim. “You’re in bad shape too.”
His face was bruised pretty badly. He’d filled me on his ordeal and the torture he’d endured at the hands of Tito and his men.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” He shucked his jeans in seconds with expert precision as though he’d practiced that move fifty times.
I watched in quiet fascination and intensity as my body heated in all the right places.
When he was fully naked, lust burning in his eyes, blond hair wild around his face, and his dick hard, ready, and bigger than I remembered, I whimpered.
Is he truly the Denim I remember?It didn’t matter. Teenage Denim had been hot and swoony. Twentysomething Denim radiated strength, power, and a healthy dose of passion I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
Or maybe I was ready because I was holding out my hands, and my eyes were fixed on his cock. When he stepped in between my legs, I wasted no time wrapping my fingers around his silky, smooth shaft.
He groaned, a sound that awakened every butterfly in my stomach.
Suddenly, my brain scrambled like an out-of-control satellite signal. It’d been years since I’d given him a blow job, years since I’d done much in the way of sex. I wasn’t sure I would be as good as I’d been at seventeen.
He curled long fingers around his shaft as if to show me how it was done.
But I didn’t need a lesson, although watching him stroke his long, thick erection was a sight to behold. With his free hand, he reached out and rolled one of my nipples in between his fingers.
I purred, my eyelids drifting shut. And before my brain kicked into gear, my hand was traveling down my belly until I was circling my clit.
Denim tapped my chin. “Open up, beautiful. I want to see sparks in those emeralds as you come for me.”
It was then I realized just how close I was to reaching that crescendo of unadulterated bliss. I wanted to stop, to wait, to make it last, but I was too far gone. All those images of Denim and me I’d had in the shower had been foreplay.
I did as he commanded and opened my eyes to find him on his knees, watching me intently, passionately.
I continued to pleasure myself. My body was on the brink of something fantastic, something that had been dormant in me for years.
Sliding his gaze down my body one inch at a time, he rubbed his calloused hands along my thighs. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”
I wanted to shove my hands in his hair and guide him down to my throbbing clit. But he beat me to it and lowered his head.
My pulse thrashed at the image of his tongue all over me. But I didn’t have time to envision anything. My hips bucked the moment his lips closed over my nub. I moaned so loudly, I had no doubt the city outside could hear me.
Then he stopped cold.
“No,” I whimpered. “Please.” I wasn’t beyond begging. It had been far too long since I’d felt him and the euphoria of us.
He chuckled, kissing the inside of my thighs, my stomach, everywhere but the one spot I needed relief. “I’m so happy to see you’re still impatient.”
“Ass.”
And just like that, we were teenagers again, bantering in the throes of passion. He would always tease me to the brink of pure, delicious pain.
“Remember this?” He licked the back of my knee.
