She’d fantasized about him for so long. Since the night he had rushed into a Syrian camp where she had been held by her kidnappers, her leg broken, her face swollen, her collarbone fractured from the beatings she had endured.
She had taken one look at the savage features of a Breed she didn’t know from Adam, and for the first time in far too many years, she had been more than a soldier. More than a hired gun.
Bloody, in pain, certain she was going to die, and for one heart-stopping, irrational moment, she had been a woman and had wished she’d met him at time when she had a makeup bag handy.
A nice dress.
Heels.
And she had never worn any of the three since high school. She hadn’t found a chance to.
Now, with her tongue flicking over the salty male flesh, the heavy length of his erection throbbing beneath her fingers as she stroked along the thick shaft, that need was there again.
The need to be a woman.
To be Lawe’s woman.
It had always been there, but as the taste of candied pears filled her system, it amplified, bombarding her system with need.
“Sweet, sweet Diane.” He groaned, his hands fisting in her hair. “I’ve dreamed of touching you. Dreamed of f**king you.”
A moan whispered past her lips.
“I dreamed of having your lips on my dick, watching as I f**k your mouth, stretching your pretty lips.”
Her gaze jerked up, meeting his as his fingers tightened farther and began pushing her down. “Give it to me, baby. Give me your pretty lips. Wrap them around my dick as I’ve dreamed . . .”
Pressing her forward, pushing her to her knees Lawe watched as Diane licked her lips, parted them and leaned forward to take the thickly erect head of his c**k between them and into her mouth.
Lawe froze immediately.
His entire body tensed, his fingers flexing in her hair. They tightened as she let herself become accustomed to the heated width filling her mouth, the fierce throb of power and life beneath her tongue.
Holding the base of the shaft with one hand, her fingers were unable to wrap around the thickness as she held the stiff flesh steady for each exploratory lick and stroke of her tongue.
It had been too long. It had been too many years since she had known the strength and heat of a man’s desire. And she had to admit, she’d never known a strength or thickness like the one that filled her mouth.
“Diane. Fuck, yes. Suck it, baby. Give me that sweet mouth.” Strangled, his voice torn, the pleasure in the hoarse, ragged tone of his voice had her tongue lashing beneath the sensitive crest with renewed hunger.
Each stroke was met with a fierce throb, a subtle taste of powerful heat and the male he was. He embodied strength and male hunger, and she found herself becoming intoxicated on it. She was nothing if not adventurous, if not courageous. If not daring.
If not determined to destroy herself by having this man and tempting a possession she knew would destroy her.
CHAPTER 9
Suckling the thick crest of the heavy c**k filling her mouth as deeply as possible, Diane let her tongue rub and caress the underside with languorous pleasure. At the separation of flesh at the top of the flared iron-hard crest, she felt a heavy throb as it seemed to flex, expand and retreat.
Her heart beat faster. The knowledge of the barb located there, feeling its warning pulse, the threatening stretch of the flesh, stole her breath.
Rachel had told her about it, but details had been amazingly sketchy. Diane knew what to expect though, and the thought of it had her tightening the grip she had on him as she laved the area again.
“Ah yes, wildcat.” Lawe groaned above her. “So f**king good. So sweet. Sweet, sweet f**king mouth.”
He buried his hands in her hair and his fingers clenched in the thick strands. The slight pinch of the pulling action was more erotic than it should have been. It sent flares of incredible striking pleasure piercing her womb, clenching it as her clitoris throbbed in painful need.
“Suck it, baby,” he growled, the erotic rasp of his voice stroking over her senses as a whimpering moan vibrated in her throat.
She had had only two lovers, and neither of them had been vocal. To hear Lawe’s rough voice whispering encouragement, hearing the pleasure in it, had her riding the edge of orgasm and he had yet to even take her.
“Diane, sweet baby,” he whispered above her as she stroked the heavy shaft with her fingers, ran them lower and allowed the tips of her fingers to play over the smooth, silken flesh of his balls.
The fine, barely there, invisible body hair Breeds possessed was said to be as soft as silk beneath a woman’s fingers. It was softer, Diane decided as she let her fingers caress to his thighs. Almost like a downy pelt created for a woman’s sensory pleasure.
His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling at the strands as Diane swirled her tongue around the heavy crest of his cock, tasting the head and relishing the male taste of his flesh.
Each lick only seemed to make her hungrier for him. With each little taste, she swore she could taste the faintest hint of sweet pears mingling with the taste of his flesh.
It was an addictive taste. She wanted more. She wanted to fill her mouth with him, taste him, experience every ounce of pleasure that could be gained from it.
Between her thighs her clit was swollen, throbbing with furious abandon as need flooded her system. She could feel the muscles of her pu**y convulsing, clamping together as hunger overwhelmed her.
Her juices flowed from the sensitive flesh, dampening the folds between her thighs and sensitizing her clit to the point that pleasure rode the edge of pain.