Take (Deliver 5)

He shoved up just enough to reach between them and rub her clit. His fingers had gravitated there countless times since he began, constantly focused on that overly-sensitive nub. He’d loved it so hard it hurt to the touch.

Then it dawned on her. “You’ve been waiting for me to come?”

Stormy, hungry eyes hardened and flared, as if he had the right to be offended by her ignorance.

“Well, don’t!” She slapped his hand away from her abused clit. “In case you forgot, I was a virgin, and I don’t want this. I’m not willing. You’ve pounded my insides into hamburger. I’m sore, raw, and bruised, and I will not come for you.”

“You came on my tongue.”

Shame. It crashed in from all sides and collided in her gut.

“No more.” She pushed at his shoulders, unable to move his bulk. “Please, just stop. Or finish. I don’t care. Just do it without me.”

“Only with you.” His hoarse, gravelly voice brooked no argument.

“I’m with you in all my hatred and venom.”

A huff released from his throat, and she heard the relief in it, the smile.

She didn’t expect him to relent so easily, but as he folded his arms beneath her back and pulled her deeper into the heat of his body, she felt the twitchy, fiery fatigue in his muscles.

With a hand flattening on her spine and the other cradling the back of her head, he rested his brow against hers and began to drive into her with purpose.

Flexing his hips, he caught a fast, steady rhythm. The warm softness of his tongue traced her lips. His heartbeat thundered against her chest. Breaths heavy, grunts deepening, eyes locked on hers, he chased his release.

She hadn’t moved her hands from his shoulders since he’d freed her, but his unguarded expression compelled her to move them now.

Feathering fingertips along curves of biceps and brawny ribs, she suppressed the moan that rose in her throat. Feeling brave, she sought out his hip bones, and around to his lower back, marveling at the sinewy strips of muscle and sculpted grooves she would never find on her own body.

Dipping lower, her fingers bumped the cleft of his ass. Tentatively, she explored the tight divide between rock-hard glutes. Hot and sweaty, his buttocks squeezed with the smack of his hips. Each cheek formed a globe of steel wrapped in silky satin skin.

What a magnificently built man, all bold lines and chiseled strength. And so responsive. He groaned and shivered as she caressed his backside. She knew it was wrong, stroking such a private part of him, especially since she didn’t want this.

But she reveled in the feel of his body, feasted on his reactions.

How incredible that her fingertips could alter the tempo of his breathing and spread goosebumps across his flesh. It felt powerful and strangely addictive.

Four years ago, she’d learn how to touch and please a man in every way. Van Quiso had seen to that. But he’d never responded to her hands, and she’d never responded to him.

Why was this so different? The circumstances were the same. Captor and captive. Abuser and victim.

The difference was the man behind the sins. The soul beneath the skin.

The heart of Tiago Badell lay hidden under blood, teeth, and vicious threats, but it was there, calling to her, beating for her. She felt it every time their eyes connected.

Like now.

“Kate.” He clutched her neck and tilted up her chin, his thumb stroking the hollow of her throat as he stared, pupils wide, his pelvis slamming her into the bed. “I’m going to blow my load. Fucking fill you up with my come. Tear up that pussy.” His accented English stumbled into Spanish, rolling together syllables that sounded like a vulgar plea to God. “Fucking fuck, fuuuuuuck!”

His hips lost rhythm, jerking wildly, and his jaw turned to stone. He pushed up, his gaze dropping to where they were joined as he pumped, coming without sound or breath, the length of his body shuddering, stiffening, strung like a bow.

Then he groaned, long and deep, his eyes finding hers and his lungs releasing in a guttural whoosh. “Jesus, fuck.”

She’d never experienced anything like that and didn’t know what to expect or how to react. So she just lay there, motionless, quiet, and invisible.

He pulled out and stared at his flagging erection soaked in their combined fluids. Her first glimpse of his cock didn’t leave her gasping at the generous length and thickness, because she already knew it so well. She’d felt every fat inch inside her.

Sitting back on his heels, he dragged his gaze over her flushed body, probing, scrutinizing, heating her skin anew. Hadn’t he seen enough?

The only blanket had been tossed out of reach. With nothing to cover herself with, she pressed her arms to her sides and met his hooded eyes.

Without looking away, he cupped a hand between her legs. Placing his other over the juncture between her shoulder and neck, he curled his fingers around her nape. A covetous hold. Possessive and weighty.