Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

“I would never expect anything from you,” he says adamantly. “Ever. I know that’s not your job.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know who the hell I could talk to though. What psychiatrist would listen to me bitch about centuries of shit? The things I’ve done? No one would understand. I’d be put away for a long time.”

“Well, actually, the witch who helped pull you out of the Veil is also Perry’s shrink, so I’m going to say she’d be a good option.”

“Is she now?” he asks.

I nod. “Mmmhmm. I mean, it was her idea that Dex possess Perry, so I’m gonna say she’s down with the freaky shit. Plus, she already knows you.”

“All right,” he says after a moment. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

“You have to want it, though.”

“I do want it,” he says, looking right in my eyes, his gaze weighty. “And I want you.”

“Always?” I tease.

“Always, evermore, and on and on.”

Damn. There goes my heart, skipping a few beats, butterflies tickling my stomach.

Then he adds, “Don’t you dare call me the master of cheese.”

I laugh, head thrown back. “I don’t know, Max. Perhaps you can convince me otherwise.”

“Tell me what I have to do.”

I grin and push down on his shoulders until he’s lying on his back. I sing a line from a Them Crooked Vultures song. “I’ve got a beautiful place to put your face.”

Then I move up along his body, straddling him until his head is between my thighs, my pussy right over his pretty lips.

He reaches over and pulls my underwear to the side.

Runs a stiff tongue over me.

Fuuuuck.

My back arches, lowering myself on his tongue, grinding my hips on his lips. He’s got a great face to ride, that’s for sure.

His hands grab my ass, taking control, moving me up and down on his wide mouth, lips sucking, tongue licking, plunging deep inside me.

“Jesus,” I cry out, my fingers curled around the duvet cover as I lean further back, giving him all access. I reach back to grab his cock, popping it loose from his boxer briefs, squeezing tight.

He moans loudly into me, my body close to exploding.

I can barely keep riding him.

My legs are shaking, feeling weak.

But I feel no pain.

He’s not either.

And the more I stroke him, the more insatiable he gets, full-on devouring me until I’m slipping and sliding and coming on his face.

“Fuck!” I cry out, riding the wave as the orgasm rips through me, then I roll over onto the bed, because I think I’m drowning him.

Oh, no.

He’s fine.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s on me, flipping me over so I’m flat on my stomach with deft hands. He shoves his knee between my legs, grabs hold of the back of my neck to keep me in place.

With one quick thrust, pushes himself inside me to where I’m still throbbing, slippery as sin.

I cry out, grabbing hold of the sheets as his grip on the back of my neck tightens. God, I love this rough, domineering side of him, love the feel of him behind me, his hips slapping against me, making my body quake, the bed shake.

With a jagged moan he pulls out, almost all the way, leaving me begging, and then pushes in again, deeper still. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he says through shaking breath. “I want to come so bad.”

I try to say something witty in response, but I’ve got nothing. No thoughts, no clarity. I choke on my words—they were nonsense anyway—and let out a garbled cry as he keeps up the punishing pace, fucking me faster and faster. We’re moving the bed so hard that the room next door is probably calling the front desk to complain.

A brief smile flashes across my face.

I didn’t know it could be so good.

And yet I did.

There’s nothing between us right now, we’re joined, fused, connected, and not just the energy which simmers and burns. The heat of his hips as they slam against my ass feels like several atomic bombs waiting to go off, the raspy, hungry moans that fall from his perfect lips is a symphony.

The way he moves into me.

Faster, harder.

Wet.

Messy.

Nearly slipping out at this speed, rhythm never breaking.

Then he pulls me off the bed by my neck, shoves his hand under me, finding me where I’m still swollen and—

I want.

I want him.

This.

More.

So much more.

His fingers are quick, slick, his other hand letting go of my neck and scooping up across my chest, holding me back, teasing my nipple, and that’s it.

I let go.

Freefall.

Into the deep.

I’m coming so fucking hard that my mind feels pulled apart, like I might actually go insane, and then there’s nothing left. There doesn’t need to be anything left but this.

I’m incoherent.

Lost.

Found.

Sharp, desperate cries fall from my lips as I pulse around him wildly, and that in turn pushes him over the edge.