Flawed (Ethan Frost 4)

It’s been so long since I’ve wanted a man like this—if I ever have. Mind hazed, body on fire, nerve endings screaming for the pleasure I know he can give me.

Desperate now, totally caught up in the flash and the fire, I slide my hands around his body and dig in, raking my fingers down the bare expanse of his heavily muscled back. And what started out gentle turns ravenous in the space between one breath and the next.

Hard, hungry, filled with a desire I haven’t experienced ever, Miles’s mouth devours mine—and I let it. Let him. More, I crave it like a junkie searching for a fix. Lips, tongue, teeth—he uses them all on me until nothing matters but the feel of him against me, above me, inside me. Until he is all that I want, all that I need. Everything, in this moment, that I have to have.

“Tori.” He growls my name—low, deep, animalistic. The harshness of it whips right through me, lighting me up from the inside. Making my whole body feel like New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July rolled into one.

I whimper at the sensation, then open to him. I give him everything that he demands, and take what I need in return.

Power. Passion. Pleasure. So much pleasure that I’m drowning it.

His tongue is between my lips now, licking at the roof of my mouth before tangling with my own. And somehow my hands are in his hair now, my fingers twisting in the cool silken locks in an effort to pull him closer, closer, closer. To pull him all the way inside me.

Miles groans at the sensation, his mouth growing hotter and harder against mine as he delves deeper. As he demands more, demands everything.

Desperate for breath, I rip my mouth from his for one second, two. But he’s having none of it. He follows me, biting at my lips with sharp little nibbles that have my nipples tightening to the point of pain and fire gathering low in my belly. Then he’s sucking my tongue deep into his own mouth, stroking his own tongue along the length of it until all I can feel, want, taste is him. Until the nightmare of yesterday fades and every reason we shouldn’t be doing this disappears like so much smoke.

Then he’s sliding his tongue between my upper lip and my gums, fluttering it softly and lighting me up like a bonfire—all light and heat and comforting, sensual warmth pouring through me. Enveloping me. Stoking the flames bursting to life inside me until I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to spontaneously combust right here.

It scares me a little, the pleasure he can bring me so easily and the need I have for more of it. More of him. Suddenly I feel exposed, open to him in a way I don’t open myself to anyone in bed or out. I don’t like it. Don’t trust it—more, I don’t trust myself.

Once again I rip my mouth from his, sucking large gasps of air into my starving lungs as I try to gain some kind of perspective—and some kind of control—over this fire that’s raging between us. But I’m too far gone for perspective, too far gone for control, my body crying out for anything—everything—he can give it. And more. Always more.

The truth comes to me, then. That there’s nothing I can do to fight this thing between us—nothing I would do to fight it even if I could. All the sniping, all the veiled insults, all the heated dislike between us over the last year was just leading us here to this insane moment.

To this insane pleasure.

It’s that knowledge, that understanding, that finally has me letting go, has me giving in to the maelstrom. My hands tighten in his hair and I tug once, twice. Again and again, harder and harder as I struggle to get closer to him. To take what I want from him and give him what he wants in return.

And still he won’t yield control, still he hangs back a little, controlling the kiss—and the pace—when all I want to do is run headlong toward ecstasy. Frustrated, desperate, determined to make him need as I do, I bite down on his lower lip hard enough to have him snarling.

“Fuck, Tori.” And then he’s on top of me, pinning me to the bed, his body straining against mine as he settles in the V of my legs. His cock—hot, hard, huge—pushing against my sex with each sharp thrust of his hips.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he snarls as his hands tangle in my hair, forcing my head back and baring my throat.

I do what he asks and the feel of him nearly sends me over the edge, despite the fact that we’re still separated by his shorts and my yoga pants.

His mouth is at my throat now, and he’s ravaging me with his tongue and teeth and lips as he sucks and licks and bites at me again and again. I know he’s leaving bruises, know he’s marking me in a primitive way I would never expect from the smooth, coolly distant engineer I’ve known for so many months.

But there’s nothing cool or distant about him now, nothing that speaks of control. No, he’s as wild as I am, his body hot and seething with the same need that threatens to overwhelm me.

“Fuck, Tori,” he growls against my lips as his hand slides down to squeeze my ass—and to pull us so tightly together that he’s almost inside me, despite our clothes. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock pushing against my slit, the tip rubbing against my clit with each rock of his hips.

It feels good, so good, orgasm beckoning even though he’s barely touched me.

His other hand is still in my hair, forcing my head back so that I’m completely open to him. Pleasure bursts inside me as his mouth skims down my neck to the hollow of my throat, and my hips lift and lower in time to the blood roaring through my ears.

He moves lower still and before I can prepare myself, Miles’s mouth is closing over my nipple. Even through my tank top, I can feel the warmth and the wetness of him, the incredibly seductive heat of him.

I arch against him, pulling him closer as pleasure tears through me. He’s not gentle with me, not now, as he runs his tongue in little circles around my nipple. As he sucks and bites at it until I’m once again walking the line between overwhelming pleasure and sweet, sharp pain. And when he pulls me deep into his mouth—tank top and all—I let out a strangled moan.

Then I’m pushing at him, gasping “Stop,” as the need to be skin-to-skin with him rises up and nearly overwhelms me. Suddenly nothing matters but feeling his skin—hot and slick and naked—against my own. “I need—I need—”

“What, baby?” he murmurs, lifting his head to look at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. “What do you need? What can I give you?”

He’s still touching me as he speaks, though, flicking the sharp edge of his thumbnail back and forth across my already sensitive nipple again and again and again.