Page 25 of Try As I Smite
She hardly had the chance to flash through all of that before her mind blanked out as Alasdair leaned down and pulled a swollen nipple into his mouth, sucking. Hard.
A zap shot straight from that erotic draw to the junction of her thighs where his fingers played. She whimpered and felt his smile against her skin just before he did it again. And again. Rhythmically. Until her entire body convulsed to the tune of his mouth. Then he moved to the other breast, and a rush soaked her panties with the first flick of his tongue. Her entire world narrowed to his mouth, his hair, thick and soft against her fingers, as she held him to her, and the pounding swell of sensation taking over her body.
Suddenly he tipped his head back, gaze skating over what she knew had to be her flushed features, the way she’d dropped back against the wall, breasts thrust out to him, lips parted. An answering flush graced his skin, his pulse thudding hard at the base of his throat, muscles straining the fine linen of his shirt as his strong hands grasped her by the hips, blue eyes darkening, so intent on her. Reaching out to her. Like the first time she’d seen the ocean—powerful, incredible, and hypnotic.
“Gods you’re beautiful,” she murmured, reaching out to trace the angles of his face ending at the small indent in his chin.
His eyes widened slightly, followed by a smile this side of feral. Pure possession glittering at her.
“I need to taste you.” A demand. Rough-voiced. Pulling at her almost as effectively as his mouth on her breast or the crash of those ocean waves. The sound a manifestation of his touch—rough, hard, and yet infinitely gentle.
Where had the part of her that despised demands disappeared? Because she was already eagerly nodding, her hair tumbling forward over her breasts, dark against her skin, teasing her sensitive nipples, the contrast of the soft strands after his insistent mouth and plucking tugs of his fingers sending ripples through her.
Rather than helping her out of her skirt for easy access, Alasdair slowed things down. He eased the material higher, already hitched up from earlier, drawing teasing patterns across her skin with his fingers, his lips. Kisses that reminded her of soft, warm rain and lazy days in the sun, even as each touch drugged her senses, even as she wanted…more. Finally—oh gods finally—he gently peeled her panties down her legs, helping her step out.
Then, still gentle, yet somehow more urgent, he spread her legs wider, until he had her positioned exactly how he wanted her. Only to return to the torturous, teasing caresses that built her need while at the same time not fulfilling it.
She dropped her head back against the wall, eyes closed, reveling in every sensation he was drawing from her body and not thinking about what waited for them outside this memory. What he’d do when he discovered why she couldn’t help him. Every nuance, every sense, was trained completely and utterly on him and what he was doing to her body.
The man was a tease in the best way.
Hovering over the throbbing heart of her, he paused.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice practically a growl now.
Delilah obeyed without giving it a second thought, as though compelled in a way no person, let alone a man, had ever engendered.
He knelt at her feet, head tilted back, staring at her. Spearing her with that gaze again. Commanding. Utterly in charge, and yet, an edge to that expression told her he wasn’t entirely in control.
She’d done that to him. And she hadn’t even started touching him back yet. Anticipation trembled through her.
“Don’t look away,” he directed. “I want you to watch me make you come.”
Her breathing hitched at the mere thought that sensual picture created. “I won’t look away,” she said.
And power surged through her as his breath punched from his lungs in a whoosh. He liked that. Liked her submissive.
Her lips curled in a smile as she thought about what she’d do to him when he was done with her. Wicked, wonderful things. Only, what she had in mind needed them to be out of this dream world, where she could use her powers.
His gaze zeroed in on her lips, curiosity sparking in the blue. With a wicked smile of his own, he slid a finger inside her, then out, then two, filling and yet not enough. Slowly, in and out, her hips moving in time as he watched her and she watched him.
You wanted him from the moment he lifted that stupid eyebrow at you. But she’d been able to resist when she’d thought of him as a power-hungry asshole.
When she was back to whimpering, he added his tongue, hot and penetrating, pressing against the bundle of nerves so perfectly hard.
Delilah sucked in sharply, eyes fluttering closed.
“Eyes on me,” he stopped to demand.
As soon as she looked, he was back. Everything, every sensation he’d layered until this point coalesced as he worked her with his mouth, coming together, building inside her until that touch on her clit turned into a match striking a trail of gunpowder leading to a powder keg, and everything inside her condensed before exploding outward.
He didn’t let up, working her through every convulsion of pleasure gripping her body until she sagged against him, sated in a way she couldn’t ever remember being. He caught her in his lap, easing them both against the wall, which didn’t feel like anything, but still propped them up.
Why were they still here anyway?
Blue eyes met her gaze and, suddenly serious, he cupped the back of her head, fingers slipping through her hair against her scalp, as though holding her so she couldn’t deny what he’d just made her feel. She had no plan to deny him. No thought beyond wishing the moment could last a little longer.
“My turn to taste you,” she murmured. Where had that throaty, sexy voice come from? So unlike her, and yet so her at the same time. At least in this moment.
