Page 58 of Rev

His hands move over my body, scraping up my hips, spanning my belly. Cradling my breasts. One hand remains at my breasts, cupping and kneading, thumb flicking over my nipple, making the subsiding waves of climax spasm through me, and his other hand buries in my hair behind my head and lifts my face up, and his mouth claims mine. I taste myself on him, taste my sex, my essence on his tongue, on his lips.

And then…he’s gone.

I blink my eyes open, shocked and confused, dazed and shaken. He’s at my door, hand on the knob. Looking at me over his shoulder, tugging the hood up.

“Fuckin’ hell, Myka,” he breathes—as ifhe’sthe one who came so hard it shook his world on its foundations. “Sweeter than honey.” Staring at me, as if trying to read my secrets through my skin.

“Wha—?” I lever up on my elbows. “Where—Rev. Don’t go.”

“Have to. For you.”

“I want you to stay,” I whisper. “I want…” I force words past my lips, past my filter, past my upbringing, past my embarrassment. “I want to touch you.”

He drops the handle and stalks back to me. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His fists drive into the mattress beside my face. His breath smells like me, and it makes me throb for him all the harder. “I don’t leave right now, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Rev,” I gasp, eyes wide and on his.

“Had a taste of this sweet pussy, Myka.” His mouth stutters over my flesh from breasts to sex, pausing to kiss me there again, and then he whispers, his mouth on my seam. “Ain’t content to just taste it anymore.”

“I want—”

He’s over me again, mouth on mine to shut me up. “Don’t have it in me to be gentle, Myka. You want me, you take me as I am.” Before I can speak, he continues. “Been a while, for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Over a year.”

“Ain’t ready for me, Myka.”

“I am.”

“Woman, youain’t.”

I don’t know what possesses me, what comes over me—I lift up and shuthimup with a kiss. And while I have him distracted, I reach my hand into his shorts and grasp his erection.

He growls into my mouth, breaking the kiss. “Goddammit, woman, I’m trying to protect you from me.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” I breathe.

It’s all the speech I can muster, so flabbergasted am I at the sheer size of the organ in my hand. It’shuge. Thick, hard, and hot. I stop breathing, lower lip bitten in my teeth, shock being replaced by…greed? Lust? I don’t know. Need. For more of him. Need to touch, to own, to taste, to know his edge, his rhythm, to know his pleasure, to know how he feels, how he sounds.

I stroke the massive thing, taking an inordinately long time for my hand to travel all the way to the root. Back up, and I twist my fingers around the fat, plump head. He’s taut all over, above me. Tensed. Statue-still, every muscle hard as stone, knees beside my hips, fists beside my face.

His eyes blaze. “Donotfuckin’ toy with me, Myka.”

I let go of him, but only long enough to tug his shorts down. My heart is hammering in my chest—receiving his touch is one thing, because he simplytookit, demanded it. I couldn’t have stopped him if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to. I begged for more. But this? This is a whole different thing. I’m touching him, now. This is a whole new level of fornication.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I grasp him again, both hands now, lying on my back beneath him, staring up at him. His features are carved from stone, immobile and utterly lacking in expression. He’s totally locked, frozen.

“I’m not toying with you, Rev.” I caress his length, slowly, and goodgriefthere’s so much to touch.

It doesn’t seem real, that any man could be this well-endowed. Yet he is.

I steal a glance, and whimper. Slightly paler brown than the rest of him, pointing at me at a slight downward angle. Thick,sothick—straight, heavy. A trimmed thatch of hair around the base. Heavy balls, tight against his body. He’s barely breathing—in fact, I think he’s holding his breath.

Almost as if the slightest movement will break the spell, take this away from him.

Or as if to move will be to break his hold over his control.