Page 16 of Viper's Desire
He learns what my body likes with that hand. No hurry in him. He grazes his hand over my ribs, the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip, and every place he touches comes alive and stays awake.
His thumb brushes the underside of my breast, and my whole body jolts toward it. He does it again, learning what it does to me, then tugs my nipples between rough fingers until I’m telling him to keep going.
There’s no shame here. There’s only his hand, big enough to span my whole ribcage, the same hand that breaks bones for the club, touching me like I’m the most fragile thing he’s ever held.
I put my own hands on him while he does it, because I want to know him, too. Under my palms, his skin runs hot and tight over muscle, ridged with old scars I can’t see in the dark, only trace—a seam along his shoulder, a knot below his ribs.
My thumb finds the scar along his ribs, healed now. The only reason this man is breathing is because of me. I move my thumb around it, careful. He catches my wrist and moves my hand lower over the healed wound, telling me without saying it that I don’t have to be careful with him tonight.
By the time his fingers reach the band of my underwear, I’m pushing up into him, needing more from him.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He drags my underwear down my legs and drops them off the side of the bed, and for a moment, he looks at me, bare and open, more exposed than I’ve ever let anyone make me.
Then he settles his head between my legs, his shoulders so broad they push my thighs wide on their own. His beard scrapes the inside of my thigh, up toward where I’m aching for him. He kisses my thighs, taking his time until I’m squirming under him, and then his mouth is on me.
The touch of his tongue tears a sound out of me I’ve never made. My hand flies to his hair and fists there. When he groans against me, the vibration shoots through every nerve in my body.
He’s patient, using long strokes against my sensitive nub to build a pressure that winds tighter behind my hipbones with every pass. I’m climbing toward an edge I’ve only found alone, in the dark, hating myself after.
There’s no hating myself now. There’s only his mouth, his beard rough against the inside of my thighs, and his hands pinning my hips down so I can’t squirm away from how good it is.
The delicious sensation builds and builds past anything I’ve ever given myself, past anything I knew my body could do.
“Tanner.” His name comes out wrecked. “I’m?—”
I don’t need to finish the sentence, because he knows what’s happening to my body.
He doesn’t let up. He pushes me right up to it and over, and I come apart under his mouth with my spine bowed off the bed and his name on my lips. Every muscle pulls tight and then lets go at once, a long pulse that wrings me out and leaves me trembling on his sheets.
When it becomes too sensitive, I push him back gently.
He kisses the inside of my thigh and comes up over me, and I’m shaking when he kisses my mouth, and I taste myself on him. I should be embarrassed. I’m not.
He brushes my hair off my damp forehead with two fingers.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. I can’t do much else yet; my limbs are loose and useless.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“Good shaking.”
He huffs, the closest thing to a laugh I’ve gotten out of him, and it changes his whole face. “Good shaking,” he repeats. “I’ll take that as you enjoyed it.”
“Yes, I enjoyed it.”
“We’re not done,” he says.
“Thank God for that,” I respond.
He huffs again.
He kisses me again and settles his hips between my legs. The hard length of him lies hot against me—not in me, only there, pressed along where I’m wet and open and aching from his mouth.
