Page 109 of Reluctant Bride

He puts his mouth on me the second I’m settled, no warm up, no teasing, just his tongue finding me slick and swollen and already desperate, and I cry out loud enough that Cricket bolts for the other room. Lightning cracks somewhere close, close enough that the whole kitchen goes white, and I watch Broken Sky Mountain flare bright then vanish into black through the window over the sink, thunder rolling in right behind it, long and low and never quite finishing before the next roll starts.

“Fuck, Dawson, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He drags two fingers into me while his tongue stays right on the piercing he’s learned to use so well, curling deep, and my hips buck against the marble hard enough that I have to brace one hand flat behind me just to stay upright.

The storm keeps time with him. Every strike lights the kitchen gold white, every roll of thunder shakes the windows in their frames, and rain thrashes the glass. I come fast and hard on his mouth with a scream that gets swallowed by thunder cracking directly overhead, my thighs locking around his head, and he doesn’t let up until I’m shaking too hard to hold myself upright anymore.

He rises, mouth wet, his eyes gone dark enough that I can’t find the grey in them at all, and I can already feel how hard he is against my thigh through his soaked jeans.

“My turn,” I say, breathless, reaching for his swollen cock.

“Later. I want you in our bed for what I’ve got planned tonight.”

“What you’ve got planned?”

“You’ll see.”

He scoops me up off the island, and I wrap my legs around him and let him carry me up the stairs, both of us dripping a trail behind us.

He sets me down in the middle of our bed, lightning strobing white through the gap in the curtains, thunder rolling long and patient somewhere out past the mountain.

“I want to try something,” he says, and there’s a current under his voice I haven’t heard before, wound tight from a whole dinner spent working me toward exactly this without either of us saying a word about it out loud, careful and hungry at once. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”

“How long is a while?”

“Long enough that I already know how I want it to go.” He reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a length of soft black silk, and my whole body goes tight with want before he’s said another word. “Tell me if you don’t want this. I mean that. We need a word first, something that stops everything the second you say it, no questions.”

“Felony,” I say, immediately.

“The mule.”

“The mule. Guaranteed I’m never going to say his name in bed by accident, and you’ll never mistake it for anything else.” I hold his eyes. “I want what you’ve dreamed up.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, heat already pooling low and insistent between my thighs at just the sight of the fabric in his hand. “I trust you, Dawson. Completely.”

His face goes raw and grateful at that before he leans in and ties the silk over my eyes, gentle, checking twice that it isn’t too tight before he does anything else.

The dark closes in soft and total, and every other sense sharpens at once. The storm sounds louder now, rain hammering the roof, thunder rolling itself out into the plains, and I hear him move around the bed instead of seeing him, feel the mattress dip under his weight before he catches my wrists and guides them up over my head.

“Dawson.”

“Trust me.” Soft leather cuffs, not rope, loop around each wrist and secure to the headboard slats, snug but nowhere close to tight, and he checks the give twice with two fingers before he’s satisfied. “Too much?”

“Not even close.” My hips are already rocking against nothing, chasing friction that isn’t there yet, the anticipation alone enough to have me soaked and aching. “Please.” I lick my lips and swallow.

“Please what?” His voice drops to gravel, deliberate, right at the shell of my ear now though I never heard him move. “Say it, Sage. All of it. I want to hear what you want before I give it to you.”

“I want you inside me.” My breath comes fast, my whole body strung tight and blind and desperate. “I want your mouth on me again. I want to feel you everywhere at once and I can’t see you and it’s making me so wet I can feel it running down my thighs already.”

“Good girl.” His hand drags slow up the inside of my thigh, and I arch into it, chasing. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So bad. Dawson, please, I need you.”

“Not yet.” His mouth finds my nipple instead, sucking hard and biting to leave a sting behind before his mouth covers my entire breast and the sting sparks electricity straight to my clit, and I cry out, and lightning cracks close enough that I feel the boom of it in my own chest a half second later. “I’m going to take my time with you tonight. Every single inch.”

He does. He works down my body with his mouth, sucking every curve of my ribs, my waist, my hips, my thighs, while thunder rolls long and rumbling outside. I can’t see one second of it coming, can’t brace for where his hands go next or when his tongue will finally land where I need it most. By the time he settles between my thighs again I’m babbling, incoherent, trembling and undone, nothing left of the world but a man I can only hear and feel.

I feel his chest hair on my breasts and he’s right at my ear. “You should see how pretty you are, swollen and so ready for me. You’re mine, Sage. You’ve always been mine. You were made for me.”

“Dawson, I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”