“So deep,” he growled. “So good.”
In the periphery, I caught movement, my dazed eyes focusing on our reflection. With a low, pained cry I started coming again, if I’d ever stopped. Gideon was the most searingly erotic thing I’d ever seen—his biceps thick and hard as he supported my weight, his thighs straining with exertion, his ass flexing as he pistoned, his abs rippling with power as he rolled his hips with every stroke.
He’d been built to fuck, but he had mastered the skill, using every inch of his amazing body to enslave a woman to pleasure. It was innate to him, instinctive. Even drunk and near feral with anguish, his rhythm was tight and precise, his focus absolute.
Every thrust took him deep inside me, hitting the sweetest spots again and again, driving the ecstasy into me until I couldn’t resist the onslaught. Another climax churned through me like a tidal wave.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Milk my dick, angel. God … You’re making me come.”
I felt his cock thickening, lengthening. Tingles raced across my skin; my lungs heaved for air.
Gideon threw back his head and roared like an animal, spurting hotly. Gripping my hips, he pumped me onto his ejaculating cock, coming hard and forever, filling me until semen slicked my sex and inner thighs.
He slowed the thrust of his hips, gasping, bending over to press his cheek to my shoulder.
I started sinking to my knees. “Gideon …”
He pulled me up. “I’m not done,” he said roughly, still thick and stiff inside me.
Then he started again.
I woke to the feel of his hair brushing over my shoulder and the press of warm, firm lips. Exhausted, I tried to roll away, but an arm around my waist pulled me back.
“Eva,” he rasped. His hand cupped my breast, clever fingers rolling my nipple.
It was dark and we were in bed, although I barely remembered him carrying me there. He’d undressed me, washed me with a damp cloth, and rained kisses over my face and wrists. They were bandaged now, slicked with ointment and wrapped with care.
It had turned me on to feel his tender caresses over the chafing, the mix of pleasure and pain. He’d noticed.
With eyes hot with lust, he’d spread my legs and eaten me with an insistent demand that robbed me of the ability to think or move. He’d licked and sucked my cleft endlessly, until I lost count of how many times he made me come around his wicked tongue.
“Gideon …” Turning my head, I looked at him over my shoulder. He was propped on one arm, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the moon. “Did you stay with me?”
Maybe it was reckless to hope he’d stayed with me while I slept, but sharing a bed with him was something I loved. And craved.
He nodded. “I couldn’t leave you.”
“I’m glad.”
He rolled me over and into him, taking my mouth, kissing me softly. The coaxing licks of his tongue stirred me again, made me moan.
“I can’t stop touching you,” he breathed, gripping my nape to hold me still as he deepened the kiss, his teeth tugging gently on my lower lip. “When I touch you, I don’t think about anything else.”
Tenderness blended with the love. “Can I touch you, too?”
Closing his eyes, he begged. “Please.”
I surged into him, my hands sliding into his hair to hold him as he held me. I brushed my tongue against his, our mouths hot and wet. Our legs tangled, my body arching to press against the hardness of his.
He hummed softly and slowed me down, rolling to pin me to the bed. Pulling back, he broke the seal of our mouths, nibbling, sucking. Tracing the curves of my lips with the tip of his tongue.
I whimpered in protest, wanting deeper, harder. Instead, he licked leisurely, stroking the roof of my mouth, the lining of my cheeks. I tightened my legs, dragging him closer. He rocked his hips, pressing his erection into my thigh.