Shades (Evil Dead MC 3)

She watched as his eyes roamed over her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. And then his eyes returned to hers.

“I’ve missed you, baby. God, how I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Shades. So much.”

And then, finally, his head lowered, and his mouth touched hers. A soft tender kiss, just a brush of his lips. She felt his soft close beard brush against her skin, and she moaned, remembering the erotic feeling of it touching her throat, her belly, her thighs. Her hands slid up into his hair, scratching his scalp, clutching handfuls, and she felt his body respond, his hips arching into the cradle between her thighs. He brushed the hair from her face, and his tongue licked along her lips seeking entry. She opened and he didn’t hesitate to sweep inside, twisting his head to deepen the kiss. It wasn’t long before he was breaking free, his mouth skating along her cheek to her throat, the soft underside of her jaw, and then finally, to her ear.

She heard him growl, “I’m gonna make it all up to you, Sky. I swear. You let me in, I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll never let you down again.”

Her legs locked around him, giving him his answer.

He pulled back to look down at her, an almost stunned expression in his eyes, and she had to smile and nod, letting him know that yes, he’d read that response right. And then she saw an answering smile form on his mouth. And then that beautiful mouth descended to hers again. This time his kiss was more urgent, filled with all the pent up desire she was feeling as well. Need. Hunger. Want. It was all rolled up in that kiss.

His hand moved to the hem of her shirt and began tugging it up. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the shirt up over her head and toss it to the floor. And then his mouth was moving down her throat, to her collar bone, to the cleavage pushed up by her bra. His fingers curled around her strap and he pulled it slowly down her arm until it caught on her elbow. Then, with his mouth still on her skin, he slid his arms under her, his hands going to the clasp. She arched her back to help him. A flick of his fingers and he was pulling the bra free, lifting up to yank it from her arms and toss it aside.

She watched his eyes take her in, moving over every inch of her. And then his head was dipping, his mouth latching onto a nipple, his arms tightening around her ribs.

Her hands stroked over his biceps, his shoulders, up his neck to slide into his hair. Her head fell back as he sucked hard, a jolt zinging through her straight to between her legs. Her mouth fell open, a shuddering gasp escaping.

He moved to the other one. Another hard pull and tug of his mouth sent a second jolt through her. Her hips lifted, instinctively rubbing against him, urgently seeking some relief.

He responded by sliding down, his mouth moving over her exposed belly. He stopped to play with her navel, his tongue dipping inside, and then his hands were on the fastening of her jeans, and he rose up to yank them down, pulling them free and tossing them on the floor.

He tore his cut off and pulled his tee over his head tossing it aside. One hand went to the base of his spine, yanking his pistol free from his waistband. He planted one hand in the bed, his chest looming over her as he stretched across her to lay the gun on the nightstand. Then he was back up on his knees, staring down at her, as his hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it.

She stared up at him, taking in his chest, his abs, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked the belt free. He slid back off the end of the bed, pulled his boots off and then his jeans hit the floor. And her eyes took him all in.

He crawled up over her, one hand planted in the bed, one warm palm settling low on

her soft belly, the heat of his touch melting into her skin.

And then his hand slid up, and he picked up the rosary that hung from her neck and lay between her breasts. His thumb brushed over the cross.

“This brought you back to me,” he murmured softly, reverently. Then as she watched, he lifted the cross to his lips and kissed it before setting it back down on her.

Her eyes moved from his hand up his chest to his eyes. His heated gaze bore into her. Her chest rose and fell in anticipation as he hesitated, drawing the moment out. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. The arm holding him suspended over her flexed, lowering him an inch at a time in a slow one handed push up until his mouth dipped to brush hers. Her palms moved up his chest, gliding over his skin, and she felt him tremble. He whispered against her mouth.

“I want to take my time. I don’t want to rush this.”

Then he was back up on his knees, his hands going to her hips, his fingers curling in the fabric of her panties, pulling them down her thighs.

Her mind flashed back, and the words tumbled out of her mouth in a soft whisper. “I remember the last time you took off my panties. You kept them.”

He pulled them free and tossed them aside. His hands sliding slowly up her thighs, and his eyes connected with hers.

“I still have them.”

As their eyes held, he dipped his head, his mouth brushing a soft kiss to her belly. And then one large hand slid to the inside of her thigh, slid down to just above her knee, and he pushed out, spreading her open.

She tried to reach for him.

“Lie back, baby.”

She did as he asked, her hands dropping away. He slid down, his broad shoulders pushing her thighs open and up. His mouth came down on her, softly at first. Teasing, gentle licks designed to arouse and torment until she was undulating beneath him. When she couldn’t take it anymore, he got more aggressive with the attention his mouth lashed over her.

Her hips lifted, seeking more. Needing more. He didn’t deny her. He slid two fingers inside her, seeking her sweet spot with one hand, while the thumb of his other hand took up its own stroking rhythm, bringing her closer and closer with every perfectly timed rubbing caress. Over and over and over and over. He wouldn’t let up until she was thrashing on the bed, her hips lifting to meet each of his strokes in a craving need driven by a rhythm as old as time.

“Shades,” she panted, her breath nothing but short huffs now.