Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

By the time I’m kissing her jaw, she’s panting through parted lips. Those lips are my destination, but I make a detour via her baby-blue eyes, pressing a kiss on each lid, willing the imprint of us to burn into her brain. It sure as hell is a permanent mark on mine.

Continuing south, I kiss the tip of her nose. Only then do I frame her face between my hands and press our lips together. I swear the universe implodes. Everything retracts and condenses into this moment, into one kiss. Nothing else exists, not the violence or the money, not even Leon or Ruben, as I part her lips with my tongue. The blackness of my life isn’t a color. It’s just a canvas for the color she makes as she gives me her tongue and kisses me back.

I lick the seam of her lips and learn their shape. I drag my tongue over the edges of her perfect, small teeth, memorizing the sharpness of her incisors. The depth of her mouth is like homecoming. I already know how it’s going to taste, but it’s new all the same.

She moans into the kiss, a deep and keening sound that draws my balls tight. When I fold one arm around her back and the other behind her knees, she doesn’t protest. As fucked-up as this situation is, her gasp tells me she’s okay with the fact that I’m carrying her to bed. She snakes her arms around my neck when I lay her down, but I’m not done with the kissing yet. Lifting her hands above her head, I drag my fingers down the sensitive underside of her arms and over her ribs until not an inch of her skin is left untouched. Goosebumps run in every direction. Her skin contracts when I circle her navel. Her nipples extend when I scrape my nails over the hard tips.

“Ian.”

Finally, the sound I like to hear best.

She grabs my head, threading her fingers through my hair, but I put her hands back above her head and spread her legs. She likes to show me. She wants me to look. It makes me harder than what I already am. If my cock grows any thicker, I’m going to explode the zipper and burst through my jeans.

Grabbing her thighs, I lick my way down to my prize. It’s a reward for my patience, for torturing myself to the point of pain. Like everywhere else, she’s perfect down there. I trace the outline of the landing strip and plant a kiss on the button between her folds. It glistens pink like a pearl. I love the feel of it in my mouth, but I get drunk on the sound she makes when I flatten my tongue and lick.

Her cry is high-pitched, like the song of a bird. It’s something between ecstasy and pain, and I bite softly just to hear it again. When I suck, she drags her nails over my scalp the way I like. I don’t even care she’s not lying back any longer, not relaxing and simply taking the pleasure.

She’s expressive. Responsive. It doesn’t take me long to figure out when she’s close. Her body bows, the small of her back making a gracious arch, and the bite of her nails on my skin turns delicious. I deny her, dragging it out to make it last longer. I bring her back down and slowly work her up again.

Her porcelain skin is glistening with perspiration long before I’m done playing. Her slickness coats my chin and tongue. She doesn’t complain or beg. Like a good girl, my perfect girl, she takes what I give and follows my lead.

She deserves her reward. Before I let her go over, I gather her arousal and sink a finger deep inside her. I want to taste and feel how she comes. She breaks with a gasp, coming in my mouth. Her inner muscles clench around my finger. She’s tight and hot and unbearably soft, just as I remember the way she felt around my cock. I pump a few times, prolonging the aftershocks of her first orgasm, because it won’t be the last. I’m going for a marathon.

I let her come down completely, keeping my mouth and hands on her, and when every muscle in her body relaxes, I crawl over her and kiss her lips. She tastes herself on me eagerly, and my brain almost combusts. I kiss her until my jaw hurts and she pushes on my chest to create distance.

Lifting up on my arms, I stare at her stunning, ravished face. Her lips are swollen from my kisses and her chin chafed from my stubble. Her doll-pretty hair is a tangled mess on the pillow. Fuck, I love her like this. I dive for her mouth again, but she stops me with a palm on my shoulder.