Page 82 of The Woman in the Hollow
Dante took it as an invitation, his face lowering, his lips meeting the skin of my neck.
It was lips and tongue and teeth and the occasional scrape of his stubble as I tried to hold myself back from begging for more, just soaking up the sensations flooding my system.
But there was no stopping the way my legs bracketed his, using his body to circle my hips against his hardness. Once. Twice.
A low groan escaped Dante, vibrating against my neck as his hips started to rock against me while I kept circling.
He moved with me for a moment or two before rolling off to the side of my body, smiling a bit at my grumble at the loss of him.
His fingers snaked up under my shirt, the tips grazing over my belly, my ribs, then closing over the swell of my breast.
Desire was white-hot as his hand squeezed, as his fingers circled, rolled, and pinched.
It wasn’t long before he was sliding the buttons of the shirt free, exposing a sliver of skin at a time until he reached the bottom.
Only then did he slide the material to the side, exposing one swell.
He let out another groan, this one a little rougher, almost a growl.
Then he was folding forward. I had just a second to feel the heat of his breath on my bare skin before he sucked my nipple into his mouth.
I arched as my hand slapped to the back of his neck, holding him against me while his tongue and teeth and lips teased and tempted.
He moved across my chest, continuing the sweet torment.
Then, making my breath catch, he kissed in toward the center of my chest, lingering there until my hands grabbed the back of his head, trying to guide him down.
I could feel his lips curve against my skin, enjoying my urgency.
When he started moving, though, his pace was unhurried, like he was trying to memorize every inch of me, afraid that he might never get a chance again.
He pressed a kiss into my hipbone, then paused until I was writhing and whimpering.
Only then did he slip downward, kissing across the triangle above my sex.
A shudder racked me as desire stretched taut enough to snap.
Dante’s arms slid under my legs, his hands curling around to dig into my thighs just as his tongue traced up my cleft.
My body jolted hard and if not for Dante’s arms holding me in place, I might have scooted up the bed and away from him.
As it was, he held me in place as his tongue glided upward to circle around my clit.
My hips writhed restlessly as my fingers dug into the back of his head.
It felt like forever, my pulse galloping, my breath catching. Until, finally, his tongue made direct contact.
My moans told him how I liked it and then he gave me exactly that, keeping the right pace and pressure until my body was strung tight, until the pressure became painful just before it released.
The orgasm ripped through me like a jolt, a full-body quake that stole my breath and made my muscles shake.
I was gasping and moaning as Dante worked me through it before turning to press kisses up my thigh, over my belly, then up between my breasts.
Then his arm hooked under me, rolling both of us until our positions were switched.
My legs slid to the sides of him as I planted my hands on the sides of his head before pressing my lips to his, soft and sweet for a moment, then deeper, harder, hungrier as the sated need grew once again.
Dante hooked his hand under my knees, yanking upward until I had no choice but to sit back.
