Page 204 of Going Viral for Christmas
Lightning bolts down my spine, ripping a gasp from my chest, when in one deft movement he hoists me up onto the bed. Calloused fingertips skate over my inner thighs, scratching lightly, leaving trails of sparks in their wake. My nipples pebble beneath the corset, the contrast of cold air and burning need lifting me higher.
Soren’s hands settle on my thighs, spreading me open as a sacred text he’s been desperate to study, chapter by dripping chapter. His head lowers, kissing a slow path along my right thigh, teeth grazing, lips branding. When I think he’ll give me what I need, he detours, nuzzling across to the other thigh.
“Soren,” I groan, writhing, but his grip tightens.
His nose bumps my slit, and he breathes me in. It’s obscene and sexy as hell. “Fuck, Bells,” his voice is thick and heated. “You smell like mulled cider and second chances.”
I whimper. Or maybe I sob. It’s a thin line. Soren doesn’t wait for permission. He dives in, tongue sliding up from my entrance to my clit in one long, devastating stroke that has me seeing stars behind my eyes. My back bows. The air leaves my lungs. This man knocked it out of me with one flick of his mouth.
He does it again, but slower this time, tasting each syllable of my arousal. A moan rumbles deep in his chest and vibrates against me. Soren pushes my legs wider, his shoulders wedging in between, massive and immovable as those gifted hands slide under my thighs, lifting, securing, making me the offering I clearly am.
Then hedevours.
His tongue works me in slick, punishing strokes, each pass over my clit more electric than the last. My whimpers melt into moans, my hips rising off the mattress in search of more, more,God, more?—
The only background noise is the fire crackling in the hearth. Otherwise, it’s the slick sound of his mouth on me. The scrape of his scruff. The wet heat of his tongue. The raw desperation in every gasp he pulls from my throat.
When his hands tighten around my thighs, I know what’s coming, and he’s not letting up. Not until I fall apart on his tongue and repent for leaving him.
The world fades. All I know is the pressure building, cresting,teasingthe edge. And then—Soren pulls back. Blows a slow, hot breath over the place he just left.
I nearly scream, “Please don’t stop.”
“That,” his voice hoarse, tone punishing, “was for disappearing without a goddamn trace.”
“What’s for coming back?” I pant.
Soren rises from his knees like a storm gathering strength, he catches my wrist before I can grab at him, snatching my hand and pressing it flat over his chest. His heart pounds frantically beneath my palm. He stares at me like it’s the only truth he has left.
“This,” he rasps, squeezing my hand tighter, “is for coming back. It’s yours, Bells. Every beat. Each broken piece. My heart hasn’t belonged to me in a long time—it’s been spelling your name with every pulse. You left, and it still beat for you. You’re here now, and it always will.”
Tears prick my eyes, his words tangling around me while his heartbeat drums beneath my palm. I blink through the wet droplets, a laugh breaking free even as I choke on it.
“You’re insane,” I whisper, pressing closer, clutching his chest as though I can hold the rhythm myself. “Insane for loving me like that. Insane for waiting, for forgiving me, for still beating my name when I didn’t deserve it.” His silver eyes shimmer, steady on mine. “But if your heart is mine, then you need to know—” My voice breaks, then steadies again. “—mine’s been yours since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t just another storm. But like I was worth being ravaged by it.Keep spelling my name, Soren. And I’ll be here—right here—to read every letter.”
Those silver eyes turn dark. He doesn’t give me a chance to breathe before he grips my hips, spins me, and yanks me to the edge, pressing a kiss to my shoulder, then murmuring against my skin:
“I love you,” he says with a low voice, ravaged with need and too much restraint.
Calloused palms drag up my sides, over the curve of my corset, and back down again—slow and possessive. Soren kicks my legs a little farther apart to expose and brand me in the best possible way.
“Bend over the bed, Bells.” A hand slides down to squeeze my ass. “I’m going to split you open and make you beg for every inch.”
Glancing back over my shoulder, a wicked smile tugs at my lips even as my body trembles. “Begging’s not really my style. But if you think you can fuck it out of me…try.”
A just as wicked grin spreads across his face as his other hand curls around my waist, tugging me back so my ass presses flush to his hard, thick cock, twitching with anticipation. “Challenge accepted, Bells. Now, fist the sheets,” Soren commands, hot breath dragging over my ear.
My fingers toy with the fabric instead of gripping it. My voice comes out as a teasing dare. “What if I don’t? What if I make you work harder for it? What’ll you do then, Soren?”
I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m baiting the wolf—also the man I broke. Every moment I shut him out built this one like kindling. Now I want him to strike the match, punish me in the best way.
“Baby, I’m not stopping until your screams make the walls bleed and the glass shatter. So,” Soren grits, sliding the head of his cock into me—infuriatingly slow. “Fist.” He pulls out, leaving me clenching on nothing. “The.” Another sharp thrust of just the tip. “Damn.” Out again, deliberate torture. “Sheets.” Back in, deeper this time, holding me there, his transforms into a snarl.“Now.”
Forty
SOREN
Ava bends for me, hands braced on the mattress, legs spread exactly the way I need, every last inch of her wrapped in that criminally tight costume that I now consider legally mine.
