“H-how?” I pant, wanting him to stop, but praying that he won’t.
“Because of these,” he says, bending his head to swirl his tongue around one of my rock-hard nipples. “They tell me you like it. They tell me you want me to keep going. You do, don’t you? You want to feel every bit of me? You want to feel me all the way inside you, don’t you?”
Oh God! I squeeze my eyes shut, my body clutching and sucking at his even as he threatens to tear me apart.
Slowly, he continues, steadily pressing more and more of himself into me as his lips and tongue work magic at my breasts.
Lava is pouring through me and I’m drifting higher and higher on its hot wave. When Tag begins to rock against me, forcing himself a little deeper and rubbing my clit with the most delicious friction imaginable, the heat within me blazes out of control.
I gasp and moan uncontrollably, my tongue dry but for the rain that soaks its parched surface. Blood buzzes through my ears, blotting out every sound except for the purr of Tag’s voice at my ear. “Are you ready?” he whispers. “Because you feel so ready.”
All I can do is nod and hold on. So that’s what I do. I curl my fingers into the mud and I wind my trembling legs around Tag’s narrow hips, bracing for what’s to come.
With one withdrawal that takes him almost completely out of me, Tag thrusts back in, filling me up so completely that it pushes air out of my lungs in a huff. He swallows my exhalation with a hungry kiss as my body gives up its fight and begins its tumble over the edge.
Tag rides me in hard, deep strokes, unrelenting. His tongue tangles with mine and I raise my fingers to dig into his back. He groans into my mouth when my body fists around his in one tight squeeze. He knows where I am. He knows where I’m going. He flexes his hips and grinds against me, forcing me higher onto the crest.
And then I’m lost. Splintering. Flying.
My body begins to ripple rhythmically around his and Tag yanks his mouth away. His eyes bore down into mine, surprise reflected in them. “Oh shit, I can’t stop! I can’t stop,” he breathes desperately, straightening his arms and pumping his body into mine. “Weatherly!” he growls, arching his back sharply.
And then I feel it.
The first pulse of his orgasm throbs into me, throwing me back into a second release that sends electricity shooting all the way to my fingertips.
Ruthlessly, he pounds his body into mine until his tension eases. I feel it as his climax calms. The pulses come slower and slower and his rhythm changes to a long, deep push that presses my body into the mud. The sodden earth sucks at my back as Tag drags over my front, caressing every inch of my skin with his own.
Wetly, he slides over me, into me until we are both limp and drenched, covered in vineyard earth and filled with the delicious cocktail of our combined release. When he collapses on top of me, I close my eyes and listen to his ragged breathing, trying desperately to bring my own under control.
Every detail of this moment sears itself onto my brain—the fragrance of the grapes, the tap of the rain, the cool of the mud, the dark of the night. Permeating each of those fragments is the feel of Tag within me, his weight atop me, his desire moving through me. He holds the pieces together like a thread that weaves in and around every sight, every sound, every feeling.
Of all the things that I imagined this moment might be, of all the sensations that I imagined this moment might hold, this is more. So much more. It’s more than I can process. More than I can explain. More than I’ve ever before experienced. Emotions assail me. Feelings assault me. Words fail me. Except for one. It loops through my mind in lazy circles, like a melted figure eight.
Wow.
Wow.
Wow!
I know that I’m not alone in this when Tag lifts his dark head and pins me with his languid gray stare. “Damn,” he says simply, one corner of his mouth curling up appreciatively.
I can’t help smiling. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
TEN
Tag
I’m a night owl, a light sleeper and an early riser. There isn’t much that escapes my notice, awake or asleep. I heard Weatherly’s car the day she arrived, despite my distance from the drive, just like I heard the car arrive this morning.
Last night, after I marked her ten ways from Sunday, I carried a wet, muddy, naked Weatherly back to the house and straight into the shower. I hated to wash my handprints off her. I liked seeing them there. A lot. But damn if I didn’t like washing them off her almost as much. At first she just stood under the warm spray like she was too boneless to move, but as soon as my soapy hands found her big, heavy breasts, she wasn’t so boneless anymore.