Page 7 of Hunting Snow

"Come for me." He strokes my walls and flicks his tongue over my clit in tight, relentless circles. The pad of his tongue is wickedly delightful as he drags it through my slick folds. He growls possessively. "Be my good girl and let go. Give me what I want."

My heart latches onto good girl. “Oh, fuck!”

I detonate. From the tips of my fingers all the way to my toes, adrenaline laced with shameless lust prickles throughout my body. And then my orgasm slams into me. Robs me of my sanity and spills down his throat.

My thighs lock around his head, my spine bows off the wall, and the orgasm rips through me with a force that whites out my vision and leaves me gasping. I hear myself cry out but the sound is distant, drowned by the blood roaring in my ears and the pulse of my release around his fingers. His tongue gentles, coaxing me down, while my legs shake and my lungs burn for air.

He rises and catches me before I fold. My forehead drops against his chest, hot breath soaking through his shirt in broken gasps.

"I need you on a flat surface."

Same.

He lifts me and I wrap around him, legs at his waist, arms at his neck, my face buried against his throat. I draw in the scent of him along with the warmth of his body heat. He carries me through the dark apartment and lowers me onto the mattress.

Leaving me, he grips the sides of his button-down and pulls, popping each of the buttons.

“Glory be.” The air leaves my lungs. Miles of defined and inked muscle greets me when he shrugs out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Scars litter the masculine landscape. What appear to be old wounds map across his chest and ribs, while others look freshly healed over his abdomen and arms. He’s a fighter. My father carried scars like those from before he headed a large mafia family so I recognize a violent life when I see it. But I’m not here to question his line of work nor do I care. I hit a mental repeat on that and make myself focus on what I am here for.

Me and my pleasure. I’ll be gone by sunrise.

The sheets are cool against my heated skin, a shock that makes me arch into him. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chicago's skyline glows through rain-streaked glass, casting the dark bedroom in a wash of soft amber light that plays across his face and shoulders as he lowers himself over me.

I hook a finger in his direction. “Come here, lover.”

I reach for his belt. My fingers tremble as I work the buckle, the zipper, pushing his pants down over narrow hips. He kicks them aside and stands bare in front of me and every coherent thought evacuates my head. His cock is thick and hard, straining toward his stomach, and the ache between my thighs sharpens into something that borders on pain.

He reaches for the nightstand and pulls out a condom. He rolls it on while watching me with those golden, starving eyes and the raw need in his expression makes me spread my legs wider on instinct.

He settles between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Close enough to feel the slick heat building between us. Close enough to lose myself entirely. My pulse races and a tremor works through my legs that has nothing to do with cold. I have never done this before. Not once. Not with anyone. And the fact that I'm about to give my virginity to a stranger in a dark apartment with rain sliding down the windows should terrify me. It doesn't. It makes me ache for him in ways I can't explain.

"Tell me what you want." Gravel and smoke and a voice that could ruin a woman for anyone else. "Say it."

I hook my legs around his hips and pull. "I want you inside me. Please, Daddy."

The word falls out of my mouth before I can catch it. Unplanned. Unfiltered. Born somewhere honest and raw, a place where armor doesn't exist.

His entire body goes rigid against mine. Every muscle locks. His jaw tightens, his eyes sharpen, and the sound that comes from his chest is somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

"Again." Wrecked. His voice doesn't belong to the controlled man from the bar anymore. "Say that again, sweet girl."

My palm cups his jaw. My thumb traces the hard line of his cheekbone. "Daddy. Please."

He pushes inside me with one slow, deep stroke. The stretch is immediate, sharp, burning through the pleasure in a way that locks every muscle in my body. My back arches off the mattress, my lips part on a cry I can't contain, and my nails sink into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. He's big. Bigger than my body knows what to do with, and the fullness borders on too much.

He goes still above me. Those whiskey eyes search my face with an intensity that strips me bare.

"Easy, sweet girl." His voice drops low, rough with restraint. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, catching the tear I didn't know had slipped free. "Breathe for me. Nice and slow."

I draw a shaky breath. Then another. The burn eases by fractions, giving way to a deep, aching fullness that pulses in time with my heartbeat. My inner walls grip him, adjusting, stretching around his thickness, and the moan that spills from my lips surprises us both.

"That's it." He pulls back slowly, carefully, and drives in again with a controlled thrust that makes my toes curl into the sheets. "You’re taking me so well. You feel incredible, sweet girl."

I moan and lift my hips to meet him. The wet sound of our bodies meeting fills the dark room and my face burns, but shame is a luxury I left at the front door with my common sense. I grip his shoulders and pull him down until his chest presses against my breasts and his mouth captures mine. He kisses me deep, swallowing the sounds I make while he fucks me into the mattress with a control that makes every nerve ending in my body scream.

He grips the back of my thigh, pins it wide, and changes the angle. Deeper. Harder. His cock hits a spot inside me that detonates fireworks behind my eyelids and the cry I release breaks our kiss.