His other arm wrapped around her waist as he moved between her thighs, forcing them to part as he jerked her to him. A hard, quick motion that buried her nipples against his chest.

Sensation tore through her nerve endings. Crista felt her back arch, a shuddering breath ripping from her lungs as fire and ice seared her nipples, then tore a ragged, ecstatic path to her womb and the hungry depths of her pussy.

Before she could gather her breath to protest, before she could form the protest, his head lowered, his lips stole hers, and for the first time in eight years, Crista relived that first fiery kiss, that first trembling knowledge that every part of her, heart and soul, belonged to Dawg.

THIRTEEN

Crista wasn’t aware of when he released her wrists; she was only aware that the second his lips parted from hers, the velvety texture and flaming heat were gone.

Her hands tightened in his hair, she lifted closer, a keening cry leaving her throat as her nipples raked over his chest, and the denim-covered heat of his erection pressed against the saturated flesh of her pussy.

“You like that, don’t you, Crista?” He shifted against her, raking his chest over the sensitive tips, watching her face as she fought to hold back another cry.

“I like that,” she admitted, shivering violently as his calloused palms rasped down her naked back.

“I always loved your hands, Dawg. Always loved your touch.”

She arched, her head falling back against the mirror behind her as his hands lifted her closer, his lips moving to her neck, his tongue licking her flesh before his teeth rasped over tender nerve endings.

“I dreamed of this.” Her breathing faltered as her eyes drifted closed. “So long. I dreamed of this.”

And she had. During those first pain-ridden months away from Somerset, through the loneliness of the years she had spent away from home, she had dreamed of him and his touch.

“Did you dream of this, sweetheart?” Rasping, rough, his voice was but a breath ahead of the silken rasp of the beginnings of a beard along his cheeks and jaw.

“I dreamed of this.” Her thighs lifted along his hips, clutching at him as her arms moved from his shoulders, moving between them, searching for the zipper of his jeans, for the fierce, thick flesh beneath.

His chuckle was a low breath of arousal and denial.

His hands caught her wrists, dragging them back up his body. “This time, I get to savor you.”

“No. Dawg.” She shook her head, moaning at the thought of what she knew he intended. What he had done that first time before taking her.

“Yes. Crista,” he growled.

Then he was drawing back from her, lifting her before turning and stepping to the bed, tossing her to it before he followed.

He didn’t give her time to protest what she knew he wanted, what she wanted. His hands immediately spread her thighs, pushing her knees up as his head bent to the wet flesh aching for his touch.

“Oh God. Dawg.” She arched, she moaned, as his tongue licked slowly through the saturated folds. “Yes. Oh yes, I need this.”

She needed. She hungered for it.

He growled against the swollen curves, licked, his tongue moving with velvet roughness around her swollen clit as she stretched beneath him, arched to his mouth and did nothing to hold back her cries.

“You taste like fucking summer.” His voice sounded angry. Harsh. But she knew that voice, it wasn’t anger that drove him, it was a surfeit of lust that poured from every cell of his body.

Dawg couldn’t believe how sweet and hot she tasted. Smoother than whiskey, yet more potent.

Sweeter than candy and more addictive than drugs.

He buried his tongue in the sweetness, licked and sucked at it, tried to draw enough of the creamy syrup into him to sate himself on the taste of her.

If he could ever sate himself. With each lick, each taste, he only burned for more.

“Dawg.” She twisted beneath him as he drew the fragile bud of her clit into his mouth in a long, firm kiss. A tiny suck, a flick of his tongue before he released it.

“More,” she whispered breathlessly. “I like that. Oh I like that so much.”

“How much do you like that, sweetheart?” He was dying for more of her. He smoothed his fingers along the saturated curls, feeling her syrup cling to them, tasting the sweetness of her against his tongue as he licked around the swollen little bud of her clit once again.

“I love it,” she whimpered. “Oh God, Dawg. I love it.”

Her clit throbbed against his tongue, almost as fiercely as his cock was throbbing in his jeans. He was wild for her, driven by a hunger that made no sense to him, that had his senses consumed by her, his muscles tight with the need to taste her, touch her, fuck her.

She belonged to him.

And where that thought came from he had no idea.

But it was there, suddenly so much a part of him that it sent a hard shudder racing through his body.

“I can’t breathe,” she panted, arching, writhing beneath him as his hands held her still. Her voice was soft, light, echoing with her own hunger.

Dawg lapped at her; his tongue slid through the soft folds, ached for bare, creamy flesh all around.

She would be visiting the spa soon, he assured himself. He needed her soft pussy bare to his lips, so sensitive that his breath washing over it would send her to the brink of climax.

As he moved lower, the snug little opening that drew him clenched and fluttered against his tongue.

Sliding his hands under her hips, he lifted her higher, closer, then sent his tongue burrowing into the sweetest flesh he had ever known.

Crista knew she was losing her mind beneath his touch. Stars exploded against the backdrop of her closed eyes and sent her arching closer, desperate for more. She fought the hands holding her, the broad shoulders that held her legs wide, and pleaded for more.

“Damn, you’re sweet,” he muttered as his head lifted just enough to allow his tongue to lick back to her clit. Not that it brought her any semblance of control, because his fingers were moving in to replace his tongue, sliding inside her, first one, then two, stretching her with exquisite heat as she undulated beneath him.

“I could eat you for hours.” His voice was a rumbled vibration against her clit. “So creamy and sweet.”

His voice stroked over her senses, drawing her farther into the maelstrom of sensation tearing through her body. She was helpless against it, helpless against him.

His fingers moved inside her, fucking her with long, smooth strokes as she tightened around him and begged for release.

“Your pussy’s so tight, Crista.” He lodged his fingers inside her. Just his fingertips, rasping inside her, bringing to life nerve endings she couldn’t have possibly known existed.

“Stop teasing me,” she gasped, shaking in his hold, her hips lifting to his hot mouth as he licked around her clit with gentle strokes. “Please Dawg. Let me come. I need to come.”

“Just a little longer.” His breathing was harsh, the strokes of his fingers inside her pussy were deeper now, stronger.

Crista felt her pussy clenching, felt the wash of her juices and his tongue licking, stroking her.

“I want your pussy waxed,” he groaned. “All sweet and soft and sensitive. I want to lick your juices from every sweet inch of this hot little pussy.”

Her fingers tightened in her hair as a shaft of white-hot heat seared her womb. Perspiration gathered on her flesh, ran in rivulets across her chest and breasts. The air became heated despite the air conditioning, and Crista could feel her own body unraveling as Dawg’s lips surrounded her clit, suckled, licked, and gave her release.

She wondered if he gave her death along with it.

She was barely aware of her own screams, hoarse and broken, as he fucked her with hard thrusts of his fingers and sucked at her clit with deep, hungry draws of his mouth.

She twisted beneath him, fought the explosions of rapture, and finally fell beneath the force of pleasure overtaking her. Beneath the force of Dawg’s hungry touch.

There was no chance to gather herself for the next attack against her soul. How he had managed to shed his jeans so quickly she would never be certain, but before the last tidal wave of ecstasy had dissolved, he was on his knees, fitting his cock between the swollen folds of her pussy and pushing inside her.

Crista stilled, froze. Her eyes jerked open to stare in his piercing gaze as he rested on his knees, his eyes lowered to where he was slowly, oh God so slowly, penetrating her.

Inch by torturously pleasurable inch. Burning because the fit was so tight, because the width of his cock stretched her to the point of pleasured pain as it stroked inside her.

“This is what I’ve dreamed of.” His breath was sawing, his voice guttural. “Watching you take me, hug me. Feeling your pussy tighten around me like a fiery fist.”

Her hips jerked upward, and between one broken breath and the next, his erection plunged forcefully inside her, and with the surge of sensation came a surge of primal ferocity she hadn’t known she possessed.

Her legs lifted, wrapping possessively around him, angling her hips up to him, taking all of him, deeper than before, harder than before.

Her nails raked over his hair-spattered chest, combing through the sweat-dampened black curls before skimming along his abdomen and back again. Just to touch him, to feel the shudders racing through his body.

Then she was moving beneath him, fighting for dominance as she watched his eyes narrow a second before he gave her what she wanted.

Surprisingly. He moved, going to his back as he lifted her above him, never dislodging from her, thrusting deeper as she settled astride him and began to move.

The feel of his cock moving inside her was exquisite. The way he stretched her, burned her. The throb of blood pounding into the shaft and rippling against her sensitive inner walls drove her crazy with need. She wanted more sensation, harder strokes, a deeper burn.

“Slow down.” His hands gripped her hips as she began to impale herself on him.

“No.” Crista shook her head wildly. “Not yet. Let me—”

“You’re not coming yet, Crista.” His voice was forceful. Dominant. As dominant as the hands that restrained her hips and kept her from riding him as she needed to.

“I need to come again, Dawg.” She would be embarrassed over the whimper in her voice later.

“Just one more time. Just now.”

She flexed above him, straining as his cock stroked her internally.

“Soon, sweetheart.” He grimaced. “Soon…Ah fuck!”

She lowered her upper body, her lips moving to a flat, hard nipple that she nipped at gently, then licked, tasting the salty male taste of his flesh and the heat of his lust.

His hips jerked beneath her, his cock plunging heatedly inside her, just once. Just once when she needed so much more.

“Easy, fancy-face,” he groaned, allowing her to move by the smallest degree, to work herself on the thick, stiff flesh impaling her with the smallest strokes.

“Dawg, please. I need—” She wasn’t certain what she needed. Wild. Hard. God yes, she needed hard. “Hard. Fuck me hard. I can’t stand this.”

His hips jerked at her shattered plea. Dawg could feel his balls drawing tight, his dick flexing, jerking inside her with the need to come. And a part of him needed to savor. To hold her back, to draw out the exquisite torment to the point that when the explosion came, she would know, to the depths of her soul, exactly who she belonged to.

One hand moved from her hip as the other restrained her, forcing her to the slower pace he wanted. To the long, gentle thrusts that forced her to feel every inch of his cock taking her, possessing her.

Just for a moment longer.

His free hand snagged in her hair, pulling her head up as he moved into position for her kiss.

“Come here, Crista,” he whispered. “Kiss me, darlin’. Show me how you need me.”

She didn’t hesitate. Passion and hunger darkened her chocolate eyes and flushed her cheeks. Her head lowered, her lips meeting his eagerly as he rolled her to her back, moving between her thighs, feeling her pussy tighten on him as he retreated, then clench again with need as he thrust inside her once more.