I don’t feel any of that; instead I experience a reverent awe as I stroke the tips of my fingers along the edges of the ink that enshrines his body and follow the contours and lines that form Ryder’s silhouette.
I’m acutely aware of my bare breasts and the erratic breath overcoming me that causes them to heave and dip.
It’s almost impossible that he’s real—he’s made of the stuff of myth and legend—but he’s true flesh, ink, blood and bone.
I think back to our encounter with the alligator, and my hand trails up the sleek brawn of his arm to the wound that’s healed well since I last saw him.
The scars developing there from the bite around his bicep reassure me that his moments with me have been etched into the epic history of his skin, like an ancient relief sculpture.
There are no words needed, no questions to ask. We don’t deliberate or guess at what we’re doing—the possible repercussions. There will be no morning-after guilt—and honestly, on my end there wouldn’t have been any anyway. All that’s left is pure, raw need, wanting and the fulfillment of lust that blossomed the moment he smiled at me after taking on the massive reptile.
Ryder finally succumbs to his own desire as his rough, calloused hand lifts to caress the round curve of my breast.
His eyes are heavy with desire, and he burns me with slow touches that cause my skin to tingle and my heart to race.
I know the deepest fulfillment for me is gratifying the love that began when we met and only grew stronger when we were apart. In this moment, whether I die or not is finally not in the forefront of my mind—the fear and the terror recedes in the wake of his attentions.
The way his mouth takes mine when he lets go of his inhibitions is nothing short of heaven. My own personal heaven.
His lips are soft and full, contrasting the rough skin of his hands and the hard muscle of his body, which he presses against me. Once that full contact is made—his delicious bare chest, the denim fabric of his jeans and the cold crudeness of the metal clasp on his buckle against my own supple and delicate body—each distinct point of contact is rapture. The sensations grip me in a tidal force.
“Make love to me, Ryder.” It’s all I can do to get the words out in a breathy moan.
His tongue plunges between my lips, discovering the taste of my mouth. He rubs it over my tongue and the roof of my mouth before bringing it over the sensitive flesh of my lips, wetting them for his service and then crushing me forcefully, body on body, mouth on mouth, lips and tongues transformed to demanding, fiery lashes—whipping us into frenzy.
The fingers of Ryder’s right hand work steadily to unclasp the buckle and his pants, keeping us apart, while the index finger and thumb of his left tortures one of my pink taut nipples.
I listen to the cadence of his breath as his jeans slip to his ankles. He curves his free hand over my throat, forcing the tilt of my head with his firm grip on the arc of my jawbone, while gentle fingertips stroke my pulse point.
With the access he’s gained from the position of my head, he lunges deeper into my mouth, using his wet tongue to swipe over the back of my throat. He stays just above the gag reflex for my comfort while mimicking what it would feel like to have his delicious cock in my mouth.
Exquisite tension like a hot ball of fire in the pit of my belly heats my most sensitive place, and I unthinkingly spread my legs to rub against him, needing the friction to relieve the pressure.
“Oh fuck,” Ryder groans in my mouth. The trembling of his tongue makes me almost come.
His left hand slides from my breast, down my belly—torturously slowly.
“I want my tongue right . . . here,” he purrs in a low tone as the tips of his deft fingers dance through my slit and over my nub of overly sensitive nerves while he simultaneously glides his beautiful tongue down the arch of the roof of my mouth as if it were between the folds of my very wet arousal.
My body begs him for more as I grind against his fingers. A needy moan rips through my throat as he continues to stroke and lick and pet—the tender skin of my neck, the darkness of my mouth, and my aching, tingling center.
Ryder’s fingers advance, and he sinks one inside of me. I cry out and my knees begin to buckle.
“You’re mine, Rachel.” The low vibration of the murmur from his own mouth to mine pulses shockwaves through my entire body.
He keeps my head pinned against the wall as his own dips down to my breast. He licks around the hardened peak then flicks his tongue over it. Each lash sends a jolt of electricity like a lightning strike directly to my clit—which he is expertly and excruciatingly avoiding—building me up like a weak house of cards, sure to quake and shatter under the power of his say so.
My back arches; I’m intoxicated, waiting for more.
He sucks my nipple into the heat of his mouth. “I’m going to devour you.”