Page 53 of Venomous as a Snake

Walker closes his eyes as he tilts his head into my touch. Before he can ask me any more questions that I can’t answer… I kiss him.

I intend to keep it slow, to pour all my longing into my movements, but that never sticks with us. We’re horses waiting for the gate to open, the bell to ring, the betting to begin. The instant we touch, we’re racing toward the finish line.

Ali is mountain climbing. The uphill battle is as fun as slipping and sliding through the downward trek.

Drew is a marathon, steady and exhausting, leaving me with a grin on my face.

But Walker is a full-on sprint, blowing all of my energy in a quarter mile. He’s not quick by any means, although twenty minutes magically feels like two hours when I stand.

Even his kiss leaves me breathless, with my legs shaking.

He growls against my lips when I try to move off the counter, the rumble a sound that’s as much him as it is his crocodile counterpart. My cobra hisses in response, but I’m too busy gasping to voice her territorial dispute.

I tighten my legs around his waist as he carries me up the stairs without breaking away from me. He kicks my bedroom door closed behind us.

His fingertips dig into my thighs, just shy of bruising, before he trails his touch down my legs to pry them apart. As I unlock my ankles, he flings me onto the bed, landing on top of me. His hands rest on either side of my head, bearing his weight, as his frenzied gaze bores into my soul.

He must see the assurance he’s looking for, because he’s off me before I can blink, taking my sheer pink ballet skirt and caramel tights with him.

Walker drops to his knees as he drags me to the edge of the bed. Hot breath tickles the inside of my leg, from my knee to the apex of my thighs, as his nose barely skims my skin.

The hunger in his eyes lights up my nerve endings, making every delicate touch feel like the first time between us. His amber irises sparkle with wicked glee, floating just above my mound so he can watch as he devours me.

Savors me as if I’m his favorite meal.

His intense gaze, locked on mine, is my undoing. The orgasm that lifts my soul from my body refuses to end. He’s unwilling to let me retreat, even as I scoot away and push against his forehead.

I back toward the headboard, and he crawls up onto the bed, following me. Stalking his prey. He readies his ambush, preparing to roll me to my oh-so-welcome death.

But instead of flipping me over, he surges forward, capturing my lips in a blistering kiss as he slides inside me. The emotion in his eyes is a heavy weight that settles in my chest, mixing with my own.

When I hook my legs behind his back, urging him deeper, he growls at me. I hiss in response, though it’s less of a challenge and more of a reaction to him doing exactly what I wanted.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his forehead against mine.

“Fuck,” I stutter, nearly falling apart again. “Faster.”

“No.”

“Walker,” I breathe. “I want to sprint the quarter mile, not take it at a snail’s pace.”

He stops completely, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Go faster.”

“Say please.”

“Jesus, fuck,” I whisper. “Please go faster. Please let me come.”

He smirks down at me, and I feel compelled to slap that expression off his mouth. I know he sees the thought in my expression, because he grabs my right hand, tugging it above my head. I still try to swat at him with my left, but he catches that too.

That frenzied fight response results in getting the life fucked out of me, though not fast, like I asked for. Every movement Walker makes is patient and forceful, slamming the headboard against the wall.

Hard and slow, because he’s a dick.

But he’s my dick.

So I won’t complain.