Page 68 of Braving the Storm

Well, fuck. Hearing her whimper and gasp my name is the type of pleasurable torture I could only hope for. Stiffening my tongue, I work her clit and drag more and more and more out of her. She’s panting, whining, damn near riding my face from below as her fingers tug on my hair. How responsive Briar is, well, that’s gonna be the fucking end of me.

If I wasn’t already far too hung up on this girl that isn’t supposed to be mine, then her pleading words, her shaking thighs wrapped around my head, just sealed my fate.

There’s absolutely no way I’m gonna be able to stop. She’s told me she wants me to have her anywhere and anytime I like. Perhaps I’ll do my worst just to keep her.

Adding two fingers, I use them to pump in and out, curling up inside her channel until she’s whining and gasping.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” Briar chants, her hips moving in time with the hard swirl of my tongue as she tenses up beneath me. “I’m—oh fuck—I’m—”

As she clamps down rhythmically, I pull my fingers back a little, and there’s a flood of wetness that gushes over me as she falls apart. Briar can’t stop shaking and clinging to my head. That addictive, sweet scent, her cum, her slickness all drowns me, and I can’t help the dark groan that leaves my chest.

Holy fuck, this girl.

“What… sorry… oh my god… that’s never… I’ve never… I’m so sorry.” She’s trying to get away from me and pulls my hair in an effort to escape my mouth coated in her release.

My palms clamp her hips in place, and I nip her wet inner thigh. Not a hard bite, but enough to get her attention and stop the spiral she’s disappearing on.

“You’re a squirter, darlin’.” I run my tongue over the sting. “That’s so fucking hot, you have no idea. I can’t wait to see how many times in a row I can make you scream my name and soak my face.”

“I want this couch to swallow me up. I’m so sorry.”

That draws a growl from somewhere deep in my gut. My cock is painfully hard, leaking in my pants, and I’m trying not to think of ways I can track down the pathetic limp-dicks who have made this girl feel like she doesn’t deserve to enjoy unrestrained pleasure.

I loosen the top few buttons on my shirt, then drag it over my head, and swoop over her. Briar’s dark eyes go wide as I shove one knee between her legs on the edge of the couch, plant one hand beside her head, and, with my other hand, wrap my fingers around the front of her throat.

I don’t stop. I don’t pause. I take her mouth and kiss the fuck out of her, thrusting my tongue past her lips, eating up every single tiny noise she makes for me as I do so.

My fingers squeeze a little tighter as I force her to fully taste herself on my lips and tongue, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my fingertips.

When I pull back, she’s panting. Starry-eyed, with kiss-bitten lips and looking exactly how my girl needs to look all day long.

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and I know without a doubt she’s tasting herself there. I see it in the way her pupils blow out, the way she’s already flushed from her climax, but is eager for more.

“See how good you taste. See how goddamn feral you make me. Now, tell me…” I put a little more pressure around her throat, admiring the way my name tattooed on my fingers sits so perfectly against her neck. “Does that make you want to fuck, darlin’?”

Chapter 22

Does that make you want to fuck, darlin’?

I’m so horny for this man. I’m almost certain my blood has turned to flames.

Damn him for taking all of a few minutes to not only show me exactly how he can make my body do things I didn’t even know it could do, but then for being able to calm my panic and turn me on all in one knee-buckling kiss.

There is absolutely no way my legs work. Not after that orgasm. Not after the way he just claimed my mouth and made me taste myself. Especially not after how easily he just proved to me that I’ve gladly lost my sanity and have chosen to dive headlong into the deepest of waters.

“Please. Yes. I want to… I want you so badly.” My fingers come up to rest over his wrist, the one still wrapped around my throat like a collar.

“Tell me what I need to know.”

For a second, I’m so completely struck by him, his hard planes of muscle, his tattoos, his unruly hair I never want to stop sinking my fingers into, that I can’t imagine what else he could possibly want to know.

Then, his meaning hits me.

Oh, right.

Sex.

The talk.