Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

I don’t answer him.

‘C’mon, babe. Don’t kick a man when he’s down.’

‘Are you down?’

He breathes out. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

‘What’s wrong? Tell me, please?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

I stare at him with frustration. ‘But I do.’

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’

I look up at him, confused and intrigued. What on earth could it be that I wouldn’t want to know?

He frowns again. ‘I can’t talk about it yet,’ he says and slips his forefinger into my cleavage. He gazes into my eyes. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers.

In the candlelight, his eyes glimmer. The air is snatched from my throat. I suck in a breath. Strains of music surround us. It’s so sweet and intoxicating, it should have been magic, but it’s not. An air of barely suppressed grief hangs around him. He sighs heavily, and a deep worry line etches itself between his eyebrows.

My heart feels heavy.

‘There are all kinds of memories hiding in the curves of your breasts,’ he murmurs. His eyes flutter shut and then snap open. He is maudlin. Vulnerable.

His other hand comes up and cups my breast. He rolls my nipple between his fingers and I feel the familiar itching between my legs start. His eyes darken as he thrusts his knee between my thighs. I push my sex against the hard muscles and feel his cock pressing against my hip, straining to get to my wet heat.

‘Oh, Ella,’ he groans, and, lifting me up, clumsily carries me to my bed.

He drops me on the bed, and, with haphazard urgency, removes his shoes and clothes. He lands on the bed heavily and immediately rolls onto his back.

‘Ride me. I want to watch your face when that hot little pussy of yours stretches wide for my cock,’ he growls.

I clamber over him and sit on his thighs.

He pops the two little pearl buttons on my nightie. My breasts spill out and he slides his hands over the flesh and massages them.

‘You really are so ripe and beautiful,’ he mutters to himself.

I arch my back to push my breasts into his hands.

‘Get naked,’ he orders.

I pull my nightie over my head and fling it to the floor.

He takes a deep, satisfied breath, curls his hands around my midriff, and pulls me down for a kiss. I spread myself flat over his hardness as his mouth claims mine. He smells of alcohol and something broken. I don’t know him, and he won’t allow me in. The thought is extraordinarily painful. A lone finger strokes the swollen lips of my vulva as the kiss goes on. It makes me melt into him until he digs his fingers into my hips. I pull away from his mouth and stare down at him.

‘Come, sit on my face,’ he invites.

I knee-walk along his body and turn to face his feet. Hovering over his face, I slither and snake my body like a belly dancer so he can see what a gooey puddle my pussy has become.

‘So eager, so wanton,’ he growls.

Cupping the globes of my bottom as I gyrate teasingly above him, he lifts his face and extends his tongue. It flicks my clit and I whimper with the velvet heat. He pulls me lower and lets his tongue worm its way through the damp undergrowth.

As soon as he tastes my syrup, he pulls me all the way down, and I helpfully spread my thighs as wide as I can. I reach down and let the tip of my tongue flick and tickle his cock. He shudders under me and glues my vulva to his face. I feel my juices flow out of me and drip into his mouth.

Down his throat they go.