Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty 3)

“No offense, sweetheart, but if you don’t hurry up, I don’t think I’m going to survive your turn.” He sounded like he’d just swallowed a handful of broken glass.

She only laughed, though. “No offense, sweetheart,” she mimicked after a minute, “but I’m just getting started.”

And then she was nuzzling her way along his happy trail, licking along his V-cut, pressing kisses over his abdomen and chest.

She paused at his nipples this time, circled her tongue around first one and then the other before pausing to suck one into her mouth. His fingers tightened in her hair—he’d long since lost the battle to keep his hands to himself—and she moaned, a breathless little sound that had his cock all but standing at attention.

He pulled her closer, held her tighter, reveling in the luscious scent of her, the creamy softness of her. The wicked, wanton sex of her. Though he knew this was her show, knew she needed to be in control, it took every ounce of self-control he had not to lift her up and set her down on his face.

He knew if he did, he could have her screaming his name in less than thirty seconds.

He didn’t do it, though. Instead he lay there as she explored every inch of his body with her hands, her mouth, her soft, wet little tongue. She sucked his nipples into her mouth, licked her way along the macabre, black and white tattoos that made up both of his sleeves, even ran her fingers along the track marks on his hips and inner arms.

He squirmed away the second she touched them, hating that she was seeing them. Hating that she very obviously knew what they were.

And when she leaned forward to press kisses to the ugly marks—one after another—he nearly lost it completely.

“Don’t!” he ground out, pulling her away from him.

“It’s okay,” she told him.

“It’s not okay,” he

answered, feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with how his clothes were crumpled on the floor. He couldn’t stand that his addiction—his weakness—was laid out in the thin black marks for her to see. He hadn’t wanted to be strong for anyone in longer than he could remember, hadn’t wanted to be whole and clean and normal. But he wanted it now, for her. Wanted it with a desperation that bordered on the pathological.

“They’re a part of you,” she told him, shoving his hands out of the way so she could kiss along the tangible proof of his weakness. “Not all of you, not the most important part of you. But a part of you.”

“I don’t want you to see them,” he said. “Please, I don’t want—”

“Okay,” she murmured, shimmying back up him so that she was once again straddling his hips. Only this time all that was between his dick and her sex was the very thin layer of her yoga pants, and it wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling how hot she was. How wet.

“I won’t touch them,” she continued as she rocked her hips gently against him. “But I want you to know what I see when I look at them.”

“Poppy, don’t—” She was killing him, tearing him apart with his need for her and his utter self-loathing all at the same time.

“Ssshhh.” She pressed soft fingers to his lips, even as she slipped a hand between them. Fisted his cock. Began to stroke. “I know you’re ashamed of them, but you shouldn’t be.”

He arched against her despite himself, his whole body straining for the pleasure—the release—her touch promised.

“You’ve been to hell, Wyatt.” She pressed kisses to his chest, his neck. “And I’m so, so sorry that you had to go through that.” More kisses, to his cheeks this time. “But you’ve come out the other side. You’re here and you’re alive and you’re clean. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.” Still more kisses, to his eyes, his forehead. “That’s something to be proud of. That’s something to celebrate. I’m so glad you survived, baby. I’m so glad you’re here, with me, right now. So glad—”

Her voice broke and he broke with it. Rearing up, he thrust his hands deep into her hair and dragged her mouth down to his. Then he was shoving his tongue between her lips, taking her words, her breath—taking all of her that he could—deep inside himself. She cried out, but she didn’t stop him. Didn’t try to get away from his ravenous mouth, his rampaging need. Instead she gave and gave and gave, and he took and took and took, until their mouths were swollen and their hands were shaking. Until their hearts were slamming against their ribs and their bodies straining against each other.

“Poppy, please,” he ground out as he sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard enough to make her cry out. “I need—”

“I know,” she said, working him faster. “I’ve got you—”

“Not like that. Not this time. Not—” His voice broke as she stroked her thumb over the sensitive head of his cock.

“Okay. Okay.” She clambered off him and he nearly howled at the loss, his hand grabbing at her hip, her thigh, at anything he could reach.

But she didn’t go far. Instead, she kept one hand around his dick as she used the other to peel her pants down her legs. It was a little awkward, a little slow, and still she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He was lost in her, enthralled by her, so close to coming that every heartbeat felt like a razor blade along his nerve endings.

But he was determined to hang on, determined to be inside her when it happened this time. He thought about closing his eyes, about shutting her out for just a second until he could get some control, but he didn’t want to miss a second of her luminous skin, her gorgeous smile, her flashing eyes.

Then she was climbing back on top of him, fumbling in the nightstand drawer with her free hand and coming up with an unopened box of condoms. Thank God.

Seconds later it was time, and she was lowering herself over him, the tight, wet heat of her sliding against him. He shuddered then, completely overwhelmed by the feel of her. The sight and sound and smell of her.