Unshackle (Deliver 7)

“You look like a warrior goddess.” John made a toe-curling lap around her clit. “Mottled with battle wounds and writhing on my tongue. So damn hot.”

If anything, she felt remarkably weak and pathetic. But the urgent demand of his mouth couldn’t be denied. He raided her senses and kept taking and taking until every muscle and bone in her body was spent.

Sliding a hand between his lips and her drenched flesh, he assaulted her anew. Hard to tell what he was doing, but the intersecting stimulation of his tongue gliding around and through his caressing fingers made everything slip together wetly, erotically. It was beyond arousing, turning her into a quivering, moaning puddle, and soon, she was screaming.

His lips drove savagely against her clit, his tongue a hot weapon of destruction, burrowing deep as if seeking the limits of her resistance. Swirling, tasting, owning, he built her release, climbed higher, faster, and carried her to the peak.

A starlit bomb detonated in her core, exploded outward, and crackled across her skin. Euphoria spasmed through her, arching her back, skyrocketing her voice, and flashing vivid color behind her eyelids.

“There she is.” With a vibrating groan, he made a final, wet revolution with his tongue, teasing out the remnants of sensation.

“Stop.” She panted breathlessly, twitching with lingering convulsions. “Please, stop.”

His auburn head rose, and his body shifted up, up, up until he hovered above her face, gazing thoughtfully down at her. The lushness of his mouth glistened with her come. Then he licked it clean.

Ashamed to the pit of her stomach, she turned away.

He caught her nape, careful to avoid the bruises on her jaw, and hauled her close, his lips feathering against hers, touching… Or not touching? She wasn’t sure. The heat of his mouth was so close her breath stuttered. Her nostrils flared. He smelled too good and felt too hard, his chest a pressing wall of burning muscle against her.

Why was he in her face, his parted mouth on hers, but not? He was just breathing against her lips, aggressively so, as if holding himself back from kissing her.

Please, don’t kiss me.

“I’ve never witnessed anything more beautiful, and I haven’t even seen your face yet.” His words fell like a kiss over her gaping mouth. “Thank you for giving me your submission.”

Her head reeled, and her heart stumbled into a strange, fitful rhythm. “I didn’t—”

He pressed lips lightly against hers. “Don’t ruin it.”

Self-preservation was the first law of nature. In the presence of this man, she felt that law in the marrow of her bones.

“Tomas.” Pushing to his feet, he opened his pants. “Move the food to my room.”

She closed her legs and curled up on her side, knowing full well he wasn’t finished with her.

“Hold these on your face.” Tomas pressed two ice packs into her hands. Then he pushed the cart out of the bathroom.

John stripped off his pants and briefs and faced her with his fists on his hips. He just stood there, head cocked, as if he didn’t have a huge, raging erection jutting between them.

“Get those on your face.” He nodded at the ice packs numbing her fingers.

She blinked, thunderstruck, and slowly raised the cloth-wrapped pads to her cheeks. Before she could form a question, he strode to the wall of shower heads and yanked on the faucet.

With his back to her, she found her gaze drawn to the perfect form of his body. The strong column of his neck, slope of broad shoulders, chiseled torso, well-muscled legs… She swallowed, drinking in his dangerous masculinity.

He leaned toward the wall, head down, bracing himself on strong, corded arms. She shouldn’t be staring at his ass, but God help her, it was tight, firm, chiseled to perfection, with two little divots denting either side of his tail bone.

Why was he built so beautifully? Not only that, how did he know how to touch a woman with such flawless mastery? His skill was so over-the-top he could coax multiples from a quadriplegic and use that American twang to charm the panties off a deaf woman.

It didn’t make sense. None of it added up.

He bought trafficked humans, for Christ’s sake. Was that how he’d learned the art of seduction? He must’ve heard the pained, helpless cries of dozens of slaves.

Abruptly, he shut off the water and prowled toward her. He’d showered without bothering with soap? Even more curious, his dick was now flaccid.

He wasn’t as endowed as Tomas—no one was—but his size was impressive, nonetheless. Thick and veiny with a plump head, his manhood hung against heavy balls, the root surrounded by a sparse nest of copper hair.

She didn’t want any of that anywhere near her.

When he reached her, she flinched and blamed her jumpiness on her pounding headache and blinding exhaustion.

He collected the ice packs and lifted her from the settee. Goosebumps prickled his flesh, and cold water dripped from his body to hers. Ice water.