Page 31 of Grim’s Angel

The first broad stroke of his tongue runs from my entrance to my clit.

Pleasure jolts through me. My hips lift from the mattress, but his uninjured forearm settles across my lower stomach and holds me steady.

“Again,” I gasp.

He gives it to me.

His tongue circles my clit, testing pressure until my thighs begin to tremble. When he closes his lips around the swollen bud and sucks, a cry tears from my throat.

Grim groans against me as though the sound pleases him. The vibration makes my entire body tighten.

“Every sound,” he says against my wet skin. “I want to know exactly what I do to you.”

He drags his tongue through me again, collecting the slickness gathering at my entrance. My fingers twist in the blanket because I do not know where else to put them.

He catches one of my hands and guides it into his hair.

“Hold on to me.”

I grip the dark strands. His control slips for a heartbeat, a growl leaving him as he pulls me closer to his mouth.

The pleasure builds too quickly. I try to close my legs, overwhelmed, but he lifts his head.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head.

“Use the word.”

“No. Please don’t stop.”

“Good. Then let me have you.”

He returns to my clit with firmer strokes. One thick finger circles my entrance, coating itself in my arousal before pressing inside.

The stretch is unfamiliar, and my muscles tighten around him.

Grim stills at once, keeping his finger shallow while his other hand strokes my thigh.

“Breathe, Angel. I won’t give your body more than it wants.”

His mouth brushes my clit in a gentle kiss. I breathe until my muscles loosen, and the discomfort melts into a deep pressure that makes me ache for movement.

“More.”

His finger slides deeper. He curls it inside me and finds a place that sends sparks across my vision.

“There?”

“Yes. Right there.”

He learns the rhythm from my body. His finger strokes that hidden place while his tongue works my clit, each sensation feeding the other until I can no longer separate them.

My heels dig into the mattress. His name leaves me again and again, growing louder as the pressure coils tighter.

“Give it to me, Angel,” he says. “Come on my mouth. I want every fucking pulse.”

The command breaks me.