I ignore it. I don’t like taking no for an answer. So I lean against him and put my good hand on his cock, keeping the throaty purr in my voice as I raise my mouth to his. “Pants off?”
Rafe groans and captures my mouth with his. His kiss is rough, wild, hungry, and intense, and it affects me more than I thought it would. All the while, my good hand grips his cock and I try to not think about how what I’m holding feels like gripping the wrong end of a baseball bat and that it’s not going anywhere near my girl parts without a metric ton of lube. Probably not even then, considering he’s killed someone with it. Can that even happen? I wish he had been more explicit, but I could tell that he’d rather die than speak another word about that incident. I don’t think he snuffed out anyone with his dick, but he does and it’s clearly scarred him, so much so that this big, strong male is afraid of me.
But I can stroke him and pet him and show him that it’s pleasurable to be him.
I break the kiss and nibble lightly at his open mouth, even as my hand rubs over his cock again, and then I go for the buttons on his cargo pants. “Undo this for me.”
He rips at the fabric, his breathing harsh, and then he’s free and that enormous cock is pressing against my hand once more. I can feel heat radiating from his skin, and he’s rising tall and proud. He’s enormous. Has to be nearly a foot long, and thick as my wrist.
Jesus.
But his pants are open and he’s looking at me with wild, ravenous eyes, and I feel . . . oddly special. Like this is a big moment and it means something. My heart gives another painful squeeze that this gorgeous man is so starved for touch. I’ve been careless with my body over the years, having one-night stands and pointless relationships. I’ve probably slept with more guys than I should admit. But I doubt this matters to a guy like Rafe, because he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful, perfect girl on Earth because I dare to put my hand on Godzilla. I’m not the plain friend with the weird eyes and the kooky job. I’m Ava, and I’m gorgeous to him.
So I slide my hand forward and grip him, palm to flesh.
The breath shudders from his lungs. He groans low, and I stroke carefully. Hand jobs are tricky, because hands can be really damn dry. Mine are soft from the rain and because I’m fervent about lotioning them, but he still needs more lubrication. I think about letting him lick my hand to wet it, but there’s a better, slicker lube I can use. I rest my swollen wrist against his hard shaft, and I shove my good hand into my panties. His eyes widen and his breath hisses out as I glide my fingers through my folds. I’m wet at touching him, monster cock or not, and I’m loving his reactions. “Hang tight,” I tell him, and lean in to kiss his parted mouth again, my tongue flicking against his. He groans again, and that makes me even wetter. When my hand is good and slick, I pull it back out of my panties and place it on his cock, and then gently stroke.
Rafe’s head falls back, and his hand clenches over mine. “Ava, no—”
“Going to come?” I ask, my voice gentle. I give him another tiny stroke, more of a jiggle, really, and kiss his mouth. He’s got a hair trigger, but that can be worked on. “Do it,” I say in my naughtiest voice. “Come all over my hand.” And I stroke him carefully again, tightening my fingers around that beast of a cock.
Rafe growls, the sound feral and wild, and his hand clenches over mine. A hot spurt of liquid slaps against my arm, and then he’s coming even more. His fist works over mine, helping me milk his orgasm, until both his hand and mine are covered in his come, and he’s breathing hard, exhausted, and beautiful to look at.
The look in his eyes is dazed. “Why did you do that?” he asks.
I lick my lips and then taste a drop of his come, beaded on the tip of my thumb. “Because I wanted to, and because you’re sexy.” I shrug. “Do we need more of a reason?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAFAEL
I wish she was less beautiful—that she wasn’t so round and luscious like a ripe jungle fruit dangling in front of a starving man. I stare at her mouth, the one that has curved round her thumb and licked off a dewdrop’s worth of come. The rest of it—the shit not in her mouth—covers her hand. It’s like a silky rope, weaving in and around her fingers.
Godzilla, as she calls it, lies against my leg, the upper half curled to the left. I’m still half aroused. I force myself to think of snakes slithering in a mass orgiastic pile at the bottom of the cave like in the Indiana Jones movie. And nuns. No, nuns can be sexy. Ava in a nun costume would make me come in a nanosecond.
And then I’m hard. Again.