Page 185 of Blood & Snow

His hair is thick under my fingers, coarse against my skin.

He pauses there, exhaling hot breath against my stomach, and for a heartbeat I think he’s going to stop.

Instead he turns his head, pressing another kiss just below my navel, then another, lower still.

The sound that leaves me is more whimper than word.

My thighs shift, opening without thought, and his hands slide down to hold them, not hard but firm enough to steady me.

His palms are warm, the calluses rough against my softer skin, and in his hands, I feel wanted.

He glances up at me from between my legs.

His pale eyes, darker now, catch mine and hold me there.

“This is mine to heal,” he murmurs.

“Mine to worship.”

Then his mouth is on me.

The first stroke of his tongue rips a gasp from my chest, my hips jerking before I can stop them.

He keeps me anchored with one hand on my hip, the other stroking my thigh, and works me with a slow, devastating patience. He’s not taking—he’s giving—each motion coaxing life back into my body.

I fist the sheets, then his hair, trembling as heat builds under his tongue.

My breath turns ragged.

He murmurs something in Russian that sounds like a promise, the vibration of his voice making me moan, “Xander…” It comes out broken, desperate.

He answers by pressing his mouth harder against me, tongue circling, sucking lightly until my back arches.

Pain lingers in my muscles, but the rush of pleasure makes it worth every ache.

My body fights between exhaustion and need, but he doesn’t relent.

He gives me no choice but to feel, to shudder, to break.

The climax builds until I can’t hold it back, breakingover me in waves that keep cresting again and again.

My thighs clamp around his shoulders, shaking uncontrollably as he drags more and more cries from me.

I sob his name, gasping through the peaks, each contraction wringing me tighter until I am trembling everywhere.

And he doesn’t stop.

His tongue and mouth relentlessly force me to ride out every surge of pleasure until the edges blur and all I can do is cling to him.

He holds me there through the shudders, licking, soothing, coaxing more release until I melt into the bed, spent and breathless, the room filled only with the harsh sound of my breathing and his low growl against my skin.

When he finally rises, his mouth slick, his eyes blazing, he crawls up my body and kisses me deeply.

I taste myself on his lips and don’t care.

All I care about is the heat of him, the steadiness of his hands, the way he’s looking at me like I’m still whole.

He shifts higher on the bed, bracing his weight so he doesn’t press too hard against me.