Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

Her own breathing was none too steady. “What’s wrong?” she gasped out. “Why did you stop?”

He leaned forward, resting his brow on hers. “You made a noise. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out as nothing more than a strangled, oxygen-deprived wheeze. “You weren’t hurting me,” she told him without a hint of hesitation. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, clutching the back of his head as she gave a demanding little tug. “If you hurt me, I’ll yell ‘ouch,’ otherwise, keep doing what you were doing.”

One dark brow winged upwards. “You’re sure? You want me to…”

“ Yes, ” she stressed, tightening her grip on his hair. “Fuck me, please.”

It took a second for her words to sink in, but only a second. In the next instant, his eyes turned stormy and narrowed with erotic intent. Then his mouth swooped in to cover hers in a kiss so hot, it nearly singed her eyelashes.

His grip tightened on her butt and he was moving again, banging into her like he was drilling a hole through the stone wall at her back. She loved it, every pump, every flex, every grind. She thrust back, angling her hips and meeting him halfway.

Sliding his hands from the globes of her bottom, he let them skim her hips, her waist, up under the material of her fitted tee to her chest. His palms were rough and callused, heightening the sensations of his touch as he pushed her bra up and out of the way so he could cup her breasts.

He kneaded the soft mounds, pinching the nipples and scraping them with the side of his thumb and tip of his nail. The action sent rockets of ecstasy into every cell of her being. And where they were joined, each time he filled her, he hit her clitoris, making the sensations even stronger.

Pulling her mouth from his, she made sounds she’d never heard come from her own lips before, and she even thought she might have exhaled a puff of smoke, testament to the heat that pulsed through Dougal’s entire system.

The muscles of her throat tightened as she threw her head back, cracking her skull into the stones at her back. She barely felt the sting, focused instead on the excruciating pleasure building in her veins, in her belly, deep in the engorged tissues of her feminine channel.

Her nails dug into the meat of his shoulders as his thrusts gained even more speed. “Yes,” she groaned, spurring him on, wanting more, harder, deeper. Everything now, now, now.

He gripped her buttocks again, yanking her forward and back as he gritted words through his teeth in a language she didn’t understand. And then she broke apart, coming hard enough to shake her to the core and make her scream.

Beneath her, Dougal pounded into her twice more before stiffening with a shout of completion and pouring his essence into her. She felt every burst, every tremor, the walls of her sex rippling with a second orgasm as it tried to suck up every drop.

For long minutes, they stayed as they were, propped against the wall like two marble statues. Struggling for breath, lacking the strength or energy to move so much as an inch.

When Dougal finally recovered enough to lift his head from the crook of her shoulder, it was to center his glowing, serpentine gaze directly on her face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then he kissed her, a light, almost reverent brush of lips on lips.

THEY ENDED UP COMPLETELY NAKED ON THE PILE of blankets in the corner through the rest of that day and into the next. Between bouts of incredible, combustible, mouthwatering sex, Dougal told Laura more about his life since being cursed…How he’d survived, how he’d remained hidden from the world for so long, how he’d tried in as many ways as he could think of to do selfless deeds and remove the magical enchantment her great-grandmother had forced upon him.

She found him fascinating. His struggle and subsistence; how intelligent he had to be to have remained invisible, yet find everything he needed, such as food and clothing.

And she told him a little of her life, of her family, of the dreams and compulsions that had brought her here to find him. To her amazement, he didn’t hold her great-grandmother’s actions against her or carry any animosity toward her family. He had, it seemed, learned his lesson about messing with gypsies.

At his request, she explained some of the details of the modern world, things he’d never had the opportunity to see or experience. She wanted to take him out and show him everything, introduce him to society and help him acclimate back into a normal existence. Not to mention find a way to help him remove her great-grandmother’s curse.

Though he held no grudge against her for her ancestor’s actions, she felt the guilt of it all the same. Yes, he’d been cruel to her people when they’d been desperate and starving, just trying to survive. But that had been more than a hundred years ago, and she thought that whatever his crime, he’d certainly paid enough of a price for it by now.

And if his version of events was accurate, they knew the key to removing the spell and returning him to his regular appearance—an act of selflessness, or becoming a more understanding, generous person. She wasn’t sure exactly how to achieve that, but certainly there were things they could try.

Dougal, however, didn’t seem nearly as interested in the idea of venturing out into the world as she’d hoped, and she supposed she understood why. The last time he’d revealed his markings to someone other than herself, he’d been threatened and ostracized.

She didn’t want to believe the same thing would happen to him in this day and age, but she couldn’t be certain. And it was possible that even if he weren’t reviled for his affliction, he might be enough of an oddity for scientists and the media to turn his life into a nightmare of flashbulbs and needle pricks.

So maybe he was right. Maybe it was better that he stay here, at least for now. They could discuss other options later.

At the moment, his attention was focused on more important things, anyway…like making love to her as frequently and creatively as possible.

She’d had her share of lovers in the past, and would have thought that a few of those encounters qualified as being quite risqué. Now she realized that for all her experiences, before meeting Dougal, she might as well have been a nun.

He did things to her body that made her eyes roll back in her head, took her to heights she hadn’t known existed, took her in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

After reviving enough from their energetic bout against the wall to go at it again, he’d turned her over onto her hands and knees and taken her from behind until she was panting for release. He’d sunk between her legs and consumed her like a man dying of thirst who’d finally found an oasis. And when she recovered, she was only too happy to return the favor.

As much as she’d enjoyed every touch of his hands and mouth and body, and every earth-shattering orgasm he’d wrung from her, she thought she enjoyed having him in her mouth even more. She liked his taste and smell, the unique texture of his long, hot arousal against her tongue. She liked leaning over him, being able to explore his body with her hands while she watched his face contort with pleasure.

Her hands smoothed over his flat abdomen, narrow hips, and muscled thighs, slipping between to toy with the soft, twin globes of his testicles. The extra caress drove him crazy, causing his hips to cant off the floor in an effort to get deeper, closer to the pleasure she was bringing him.

Hiding a grin, she licked the plum-shaped tip like a lollipop, around and around in one direction, then back around and around in the other. His moans grew lower and more frequent, the thrust of his pelvis more powerful. And she moved with him, rolling, riding, never letting her concentration waver until she’d brought him off as thoroughly and violently as possible.