Page 15 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)
Chapter Fourteen
T had
My snakes hover in the space between us, swaying with anticipation as Sloane’s fingers trail along my jaw. The moonlight streaming through my bedroom windows casts silver patterns across her skin, and the vulnerability we just shared below transforms into something deeper—hunger mixed with trust.
“Your back—” she starts, concern flickering across her face.
“—will survive,” I finish, my voice rough with need. Sterling is already stretching toward her, his shimmering scales catching the amber light from my industrial fixtures. “Though some positions might require… creativity.”
Her laugh sends vibrations through me, low and promising.
“Good thing I’m a writer. Gorgon, one thing I have plenty of is an active imagination.
Especially when it involves that delicious body of yours.
” The moment I set her down next to my bed, her fingers move to the top button of her blouse.
“And I’m a Pilates instructor. That’s spelled f-l-e-x-i-b-l-e. ”
The thought makes my cock throb, memories of her class flooding back—her body bending and stretching with controlled grace. My snakes perk up, all of them now watching her fingers work each button with agonizing slowness.
“I could help with that,” I offer, reaching toward her.
“Patience, Gorgon.” Her smile turns teasing as she steps just out of reach. “Consider this payback for all those times your snakes showed off during class.”
“They’re incorrigible,” I admit, but every single one of them is fixed on her now, not a hint of shame between them. Sterling unabashedly positions himself for the best view.
The final button comes undone, and Sloane lets the blouse slip from her shoulders.
The black lace beneath is simple but devastating, her curves creating shadows and valleys that make my mouth go dry.
My fingers itch to touch her, to trace every line and plane, to discover if she’s as soft as she looks.
“Your turn,” she challenges with a tip of her chin.
My t-shirt comes off in one fluid motion, revealing the tribal snake tattoos that wind down my left arm. My snakes rearrange themselves automatically, creating a crown of interested observers.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” she murmurs, stepping forward to run her fingers along the inked patterns. Where she touches, my skin burns as if branded. When she reaches a particularly sensitive spot near my collarbone, I can’t suppress a low growl.
“Sensitive?” She traces it again, more deliberately this time.
“Very.” I capture her wrist, using my grip to tug her closer. “And running dangerously low on patience.”
“Show me,” she challenges, her blue eyes dark with desire.
This time when our lips meet, I consume her, drinking in her little gasps and sighs as my hands finally— finally —explore the curves I’ve been admiring since the first moment I saw her.
When we break apart, both breathless, I let my eyes shift to amber, pupils contracting to predatory slits as primal hunger takes hold. “What do you want from me?” I demand, the truth compulsion flowing between us like silk and lightning.
Her pupils dilate as the power settles over her, but instead of resistance, I see pure desire. “Everything,” she breathes, the word pulled from her by ancient magic and modern hunger. “I want everything you’ll give me.”
“And what will you give me in return?”
The compulsion wraps around her like a lover’s touch. “All of me. My body, my trust, my—” She catches herself, but the amber in my eyes intensifies.
“Your what?”
“My heart,” she whispers, the truth magic making the confession inevitable. “God help me, Thad, I want to give you my heart.”
Our kiss deepens, becomes something hungry and desperate. Her mouth opens under mine, and I taste the sweetness that’s purely her. My tongue sweeps against hers, claiming and exploring, while she makes desperate mewling sounds that drive me wild.
Her hands grip the back of my neck, careful of my snakes but bold in her desire. The gentle pressure sends shockwaves straight to my cock, and several of my snakes actually moan in response. When she nips at my lower lip, then soothes the sting with her tongue, my control fractures.
I press her down onto the bed, my body caging her in as I trail kisses down the column of her throat. She tastes like salt and want. It’s addictive. Her pulse pounds beneath my lips, and I can’t resist the urge to mark her there, to suck gently until she gasps my name.
Her skin feels like warm silk beneath my palms, impossibly soft compared to my calloused hands.
My snakes join the exploration. Sterling loops loosely around her throat in that claiming gesture that she seems to enjoy. When she moans in response, the vibration travels through him to me, creating a feedback loop of sensation.
“You like that,” I observe, trailing kisses down her jaw to the pulse point just below where Sterling rests.
“I like all of you,” she admits, her fingers sliding up and down my back, lingering at my hips as though she’s a general contemplating how to attack her goal. “Every part.”
The admission hits me harder than expected, a hook behind my ribs pulling tight. No one has ever embraced all of me—the enforcer, the swimming instructor, the monster with snakes for hair. Yet here she is, fingers gently stroking scales as naturally as if she were caressing skin.
“Take those off,” she orders, her hands reaching for the button of my jeans.
“Not yet.” I kneel before her, ignoring the twinge in my lower back. Some discomfort is worth enduring. “I’ve been thinking about this since you walked into my pool in those ridiculous shoes.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as I press kisses along her collarbone, my hands sliding behind her to unclasp her bra. The lace falls away, revealing breasts that make my cock twitch—lush handfuls tipped with dusky rose nipples already tightening in the cool air.
“Beautiful,” I murmur against her skin. My snakes sway in agreement, creating a hypnotic pattern above us. Sterling reluctantly unwinds from her throat, joining the others in their appreciative dance.
I take my time, mapping her body with lips and tongue, discovering what makes her breath catch and what draws those little whimpers from her throat. When I finally suck a nipple into my mouth, her back arches like a bow.
“Thad.” Her fingers grip my neck, pulling me close. “God, your mouth—”
I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other, alternating between gentle suction and the scrape of teeth that makes her hips shift restlessly. My hands span her waist, thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs, learning the geography of her.
Her skin flushes pink wherever I touch, a visible map of desire that feeds my own growing need. Between us, my snakes create a curtain of sinuous muscle, some brushing against her arms and shoulders in feather-light caresses, others swaying in patterns that mirror my mounting arousal.
When my hands find the waistband of her pants, her hips lift in silent permission. The fabric slides away easily, leaving her in black lace panties that match her discarded bra. The scent of her arousal hits me like a physical force, making my cock strain painfully against denim.
“You’re overdressed,” she observes, tugging at my belt loop.
“Enjoying the view,” I counter, but I stand to remove my jeans.
After kicking the jeans aside, I’m left only in boxer briefs that do nothing to hide my arousal.
Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, and I can’t help the primal satisfaction that flares through me. I’m larger than most human males—in height, build, and all proportions. But the look in her eyes holds only anticipation, not apprehension.
“I think we can work something out,” she says, reaching for me.
When her fingers wrap around me through the thin cotton, my hips jerk involuntarily, and I release a hiss of pleasure as I throw my head back. Every snake on my head responds, some coiling tighter while others stretch in desire.
“Sensitive,” she echoes my earlier observation, a smile playing at her lips as she traces my considerable length. At first, I stifle my groan, then decide I have nothing to hide from this woman who is so generous with her inner thoughts.
I make a guttural moan of appreciation, making no effort to conceal the leaking wet spot on my briefs. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, woman.”
I capture her wrist again, this time to save my rapidly deteriorating self-control. “And if you keep that up, this will be over embarrassingly quickly.”
She laughs, the sound sliding over me like warm honey. “Then perhaps we should try a different approach.” She shifts under me, her cue for me to move. “Lie down. Let me do the work.”
The suggestion makes sense given my injury, but something in her tone—commanding yet caring—sends heat coursing through me. I obey.
She stands, sliding her panties down long legs in a move that makes my mouth go dry. Then she’s straddling me, looking at me like a starving woman looks at a banquet.
The sight nearly undoes me—Sloane Whitaker, the beautiful, outspoken, fearless female, is naked and wanting above me. Her honey-blonde hair falls around her shoulders, and her eyes hold a hunger that matches my own.
“You’re staring,” she says, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
“Because you’re stunning.” I run my hands up her thighs, feeling the muscles there, strong from Pilates, trembling slightly with desire. “Every inch of you.”
She leans down to kiss me, her breasts brushing against my chest in a way that makes us both gasp.
My hands find her hips, guiding her against me in a slow, torturous rhythm that has us both breathing harder.
The friction is exquisite—her heat against my hardness, separated only by the thin fabric of my boxers.
My snakes create a canopy around us, several brushing against her shoulders and back in gentle caresses. When one traces the curve of her spine, she shivers.