“I hate that boy,” she whispered.
And just like that the taut mood broke and they were laughing. Taking the final steps to him, she jumped into his arms. He wrapped her in his embrace, careful to not let his hook pierce her flesh, and then she was kissing him. Her hands were in his hair, her scent of roses clung to his nostrils, his pores, so that all he could smell, see, taste, touch…was her.
Her lips were hungry, moving over his with a passion to rival his own. Growling, he slid his tongue deep into her mouth and her tiny mewl of response spurred him on. Somehow he tripped his way over to the bed.
All the need came back then. The fury of losing her, of wanting to rip into that boy, of fearing what Pan would do to Trishelle…he poured it all into his touch, nipping and suckling on her lower lip until she was nothing but a boneless heap in his arms. Tumbling onto the bed, he held her against him. She giggled when they fell, tossing the hair out of her eyes as his limbs tangled up with hers.
“I don’t think I can be gentle this time, little bird.”
“Lucky for you,” she nibbled the corner of his jaw, making his gut clench and his cock hard, “I feel the same way.” Then she was tearing at the laces of his shirt, slipping her cold little hands inside and massaging and scratching whatever parts of him she could get her nails on. “I want to ride you, Hook,” she murmured against his lips, before licking it.
His head swam, his thighs shook, and all he could do was croak in response. Then her hands were on his pants and she was deftly undoing his laces.
“Take this awful dress off me,” she panted in between kissing his lips, his eyes, his throat.
Using his hook, he tore it down the center.
She shivered, breathing hard, and stared at him while he stared at her. “You have beautiful breasts.” His voice resonated with the longing he felt. Her nipples were puckered and pointing toward the ceiling and all he wanted to do was suckle one.
Her smile was sultry, but also sweet and an image exploded in his brain of just where he’d like that mouth to be. He wanted her to ride him, to use him, but the relief he felt in having her back let him know this went deeper than satisfying his lust.
Framing her face with his hand and hook he said, “I know who you are. Who you really are.” Staring deep into her green eyes he wondered why he hadn’t thought them as gorgeous when he’d first seen them as he now did. “I see you, Trishelle Page.”
She didn’t say anything, but he knew she understood. He wasn’t with her because of who she represented, he was with her because she was exactly who he wanted to be with.
Then she was moving again, riding her center on his thigh, and all he could do was groan because she was so hot and wet and in that second he didn’t care if it was his last second alive, there was no where else he’d rather be, and no one else he’d rather be with.
Cupping her breast, he growled, letting her take the lead. Do whatever she wanted.
“I’m going to explode if you’re not in me now,” she panted, then started tugging him free of his pants.
Fire wracked him, made him shake when she took him in her hand and began to stroke.
“Do you like this, Hook?” she teased, stroking harder and faster, making his pulse go crazy and his vision hazy.
He wasn’t sure if he mumbled anything intelligible, too hard to think when there was so much pleasure. All he could do was close his eyes and hiss, jerking and gasping as the heat spiraled like a rocket through his very core.
“I can’t wait, can’t wait.” She nuzzled his neck then she was guiding him to her moist entrance. The pleasure was going to kill him, he just knew it. Squeezing her waist, he shoved in, hard.
She gasped, then moaned and started rocking harder, squeezing every ounce of pleasure from his soul. Clamping her lips to his she massaged his tongue with her own until he was drowning in the taste of her strawberry tongue.
She filled his head, made him dizzy and breathless with the need to imprint himself on her soul. How could he let her leave? Why would she still want to? Didn’t she realize this wasn’t normal? What they had, what they shared, it was more…deeper than mere sex. This was passion at its rawest form and so rare he knew he’d do anything to keep her.
But now wasn’t the time for words. Because it was all about this, this moment, her body and his becoming one. Rolling her hips on him one final time, she screamed his name, shuddering above him and for a second he wanted to take back his promise. He wanted to pour his seed inside, claim her, mark her, make her his.
The pleasure was overwhelming, but at the last instant he withdrew. Howling as the passion gripped him, forcing the seed from his cock.
It took a full minute before either one of them could speak.
She laughed. “Wow, that was—”
“Miraculous,” he supplied and she just giggled harder.