“It’s one hell of a feckin’ song. Never felt anything like it.” A finger hooked my waistband and yanked my body flush with his.
As I gasped, he used my surprise to capture my mouth.
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
Robert Browning
A hundred objections beginning with “Don’t” assembled on my tongue, until they melded, transformed, and escaped as one. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Mouths locked in urgency, we staggered toward the bed, stripped it of bug infested blankets, laughing into that kiss and tumbling on the mattress, not once severing our joined lips.
The bunker filled with the rip and rustle of shed clothes. Finally naked, our hands explored. Mine on his chest, the cut lines of his back, the cleft of his gorgeous ass. His drew in, closing around my breasts, following my ribs, over the swell of my belly.
When fingers found the wet heat between my thighs, elation sloughed away whatever willpower I had left to stop it. His mouth took mine and I met his demands, lick after lick, wanting him more and more.
I centered myself in the flex of the body draping mine. The iron erection thrusting against my thigh, miming sex, was affirmation of his intent.
He raised his body, lips parted and watched his fingers move between my legs. In and out. Round and round. “So soft. Slick.” Eyes flicked to mine, accent thick. “Sacred.”
“Voodoo,” I breathed, widening my thighs.
A husky laugh barreled from his throat. “Aye, ye randy temptress.”
I closed my eyes, saw myself standing nude under an apple tree. Vines swayed around me. Except one of those vines was a snake hissing in my ear. Temptation. Fruit. Sin.
My lids fluttered up. Through the alcohol and guilt-ridden fog, I found the question still worrying me. “How drunk are you?”
He shook his head, eyes glittering. “Your deadly body sobers a lad straight away.”
Conflicting emotions railroaded me. Leading the pack was apprehension. It was going to happen. When the aftershocks settled, where would we stand?
I grabbed his face, held it between my palms. “This can’t come between us. Understand?”
Mouth bowed in a lopsided grin, his hips closed the distance, erection replacing fingers, nudging me. Those fingers slipped into my mouth, letting me taste my arousal, then moved to my hair, knotting and pulling. His gaze, as naked as our bodies, searched mine.
“This.” He wiggled his hips. “Will come between us.”
Then he thrust.
“Ugn.” His head dropped, cheek stroking cheek. “Uhh…unngh.”
Inch by aching inch, bliss overwhelmed me. My thighs shook with it. Our tongues collided, tangled, and I was lost. Lost in the thrumming of heartbeats, panting breaths, rolling hips.
“Oh, love. Oh, Evie. This is—”
A shudder went through him. He pulled back, mouth agape to accommodate labored breaths. “I can’t…”
“No, you don’t. Not now.” I bent my legs, clamped his torso between my thighs and dug my heels into the muscled meat of his ass.
He released a shaky laugh, hands pinning my writhing hips. “Just need a minute, love.” His brogue was intense.
Oh. A smile twisted my lips.
I held still as we stared at each other, ragged breaths mingling, the intimate connection magnifying the anticipation. Moments later, he sat up and crushed my breasts to him. Arms coiled around me, his mouth covering mine, he began to move.
I rocked in his lap, calves sawing against his back. We found a rhythm and the pleasure built. My body tensed, prepared to unfurl. Our tongues disentangled.
“Come with me,” he mouthed.
I tightened my arms around his neck. I was there, teetering, nodding.
My back hit the mattress. Muscles trembled above me. Hips met mine, over and over. The pace became harder, more impassioned.
“Now.” His exhale heated my cheek.
Deep inside me, his cock enlarged, stilled, released. Submerged in his groans, his scrunched face, the fists in my hair, and the drugging grind of his pelvis against my clit, my cry joined his and I followed, riding his tremors, fully sated.
When I came back to myself, I pushed against the hard muscle crushing me. It didn’t move.
“Roark?”
A snore answered. Still buried inside me, his cock twitched.
As I succumbed to orgasm-induced sleep, I basked in our connection, his body in mine, his perceptive ability to read my mind, and the way he wound himself around my heart.
The cave bled around me. I rolled, met the gentle features of a woman’s face. Her eyes were closed. I shook her shoulders. Her head wobbled and detached from her body.
My heart pounded. Her body lay gutted. Her womb turned inside out. Bile filled my throat.
Laughter echoed. Black boots approached, kicking the swishing hem of a sable cape. “Shh. Do not fear Allah. You are a necessary instrument in my design.”
My eyes snapped open, lungs pumping, my hands searching the bed beside me. Empty. I sat up.
Roark stood from the prayer bench, dressed in full cassock, rosary twisted through his fingers, expression severe. It occurred to me then, he dressed that way when he meant business.