Page 62 of Bad Attitude
I agree with aboutnoneof that. Maybe the vulnerability, and I don’t evenlikethat bit, but—
He kisses me deeply, the hunger back, like he’s trying to blend our souls together. It draws a moan from me that I can’t contain. Then his hands fall awayfrom my throat, pushing my jacket off my shoulders. I relax my arms, letting it slip to the floor, and he tugs at my crop top, pulling it up over my head. My bra comes loose a moment later, the straps falling down my arms, and he never broke the kiss, except for the second my shirt passed over my face.
“So beautiful,” he breathes, head lowering, the heat of his mouth finding one breast. I gasp, arching my back. His tongue rubs over my aching nipple, and his hands grip my ass, holding me to him. I shove my fingers into his hair, pulling him harder against me, closing my eyes at the pleasure of it as my body shudders. He does more insecondsthan anyone else haseverdone.
He draws back, leaving my nipple wet and cool in the air, standing erect and begging for more. “I need to taste you,” he says.
What was he just doing?
Then he lowers to one knee before me, fingers pulling open my leathers. I bite at my lip, not able to find the words to stop him, not even sure I want to. He’s still fully dressed. I’m half naked. Then he tugs my pants down to mid-thigh, where the leather bunches, catching. He’s going to know how wet I am; my panties are soaked.
But his eyes light up as he sees me, then he hooks a finger behind the material, brushing my pussy, and pulls them aside, burying his face between my legs. I cry out, knees buckling, clutching at his head to brace myself. His tongue presses into my folds, licking firmly up over my clit, his eyes open and watchingme as he goes down on me while I’mstanding.
My legs are trembling. I won’t be standing for long.
“Declan…”
He might be the one on his knees, but he’s completely in control, my body responding to him, not me. His tongue pushes against my sex, warm and wet and so very insistent, and I’m gasping with every breath. It’s all I can do not to collapse on him. My damn leather pants are in the way, hobbling me, stopping him from getting as deep as I want.
I need to start wearing jeans. Or a skirt… maybe a skirt. I never understood the point of those, but now I do.
My knees buckle, and I catch myself on his shoulders. “I literally can’t stand,” I breathe, and he laughs against me, low and masculine. Then he rises up, sweeping me into his arms, carrying me princess-style through into his bedroom. He smiles down at me, more playful and full of promise than anything gentle or endearing, but it still makes my heart flip.
He shouldn’t affect me this much, but there’s no denying he does.
His beard and face are slick with my arousal, and he licks his lips in reflex, tasting me again. No one’s ever kissed me there before, and now he has. Not just once, but twice in as many weeks. As if helikesit.
I knowIdo.
“The things you do to me,” I murmur.
“Only just started, Hellcat.”
He drops me onto the bed, and thoughit’s soft, the surprise of it still drives my breath out. I glare up at him, and he grins as he catches one ankle, stripping my boot off me. The other follows. My pants are halfway down my thighs, and those go next, pulled from my legs while I bite at my lip, watching him work. I’m in nothing but my panties while he’s still fully dressed, and it brings to mind some of that vulnerability he referred to.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, more from curiosity than trepidation.
“You want a play-by-play?” he teases, straightening as he pulls his shirt off. My eyes are drawn to his chest, the tattoos writhing across his muscles as he moves.
“No…” I guess.
“This isn’t something you can plan and control, Genesis.”
But Iwantthat control. I like knowing what’s coming.
“Raven,” I say sullenly, then grimace at my own tone, trying to explain. “I don’t like that name.”
He pauses in the act of pulling his boots off. “Why not?”
Stupid name. Religious connotations. No one else has it. It’s something I’m not… or no longer, anyway.
“It’s not me, anymore,” I reply, realizing as I say it that it’s true. “It’s the old me.” Strange, saying that out loud. Stranger still that it’s him I’m saying it to.
Is this what trust feels like? Or is this a mistake?
“Birth, dawn, beginning, emergence…” he says, straightening as he unbelts his pants. His lips curl playfully. “…conception.”
Now I’m blushing. Lying on his bed, wearing only panties, biting at my lip andblushingas he gives variations of my name like it’s sex incarnate.
