Punctured, Bruised, and Barely Tattooed(25)

Her breathing was still shallow, and she was surprised she hadn’t grown lightheaded. He touched the bottom of her chin with his finger and she brushed his chest with both her hands then, not feeling self-conscious that she was half-naked in front of him for the first time. “You’re amazing,” she breathed.

He brought her eyes up to his as she responded to his touch and tilted her head. “Not even close to you.” He kissed her again, intense, deep, and hot, and she felt her nipples brush against his body, stimulated again just from his body heat and what little amount of friction their kiss had caused. He pulled her close and then lay her down on the bed, on that over-plump comforter, and then his fingers resumed their previous course of action, pulling the zipper of her jeans down.

His lips left hers once more, again making a trail away from her face and down her body. He paused at her breasts once more, tonguing a nipple until she groaned, almost a wordless plea, but what she needed, she didn’t know. She only knew she had to trust him with her body.

He definitely knew what to do. When his lips got to her bellybutton, his hands gripped the sides of her jeans, pulling them down over her hips. She hadn’t noticed at first, but he’d managed to grab hold of her panties at the same time, and they were both sliding down her thighs with little effort. He got off the bed, pulling the jeans the rest of the way down, and her little sandals fell off her feet before the jeans were completely off her body.

She waited for him to rejoin her but then she felt him slide his hands under her ass. She lifted her upper body off the bed to see that he was on his knees at the foot of the bed, and he pulled her closer to him. Pulled her pussy closer to him. She felt warmth and wetness between her legs then, a direct response to the way his dark eyes were focused on her. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and he seemed to be telling her she was his and he was going to own her with this very act. She was okay with that, but…

The way he brushed her thighs as he pulled his hands out from under her butt sent a shiver through her body, and he lifted her legs so that her knees were up and over his shoulders, and he homed in on the area between her legs. She felt his breath, sensed his warmth and strength. She felt desire coursing through her veins…followed by a rush of fear. Intense fear. What the fuck was going on?

She felt his tongue stroke her clit. Oh, God, yes, that was incredible, she thought as she sucked in a quick breath. Her body quivered at the soft touch of his tongue and her muscles tightened at his attention. But another lightning bolt of fright jolted her. She could feel adrenaline fucking with her, making her tingle all over, causing the little hairs on her arms to stand at attention and all her nerves were on heightened alert, waiting for something horrible to happen.

Another stroke. Nothing bad at all and crazy good.

But more anxiety and she was breathing rapidly, like she’d just run a mile in a minute.

What the fuck?

Every stroke brought more fear, and even though it felt good, it increased her sense that something bad was going to happen a thousand fold.

Her mind shifted then, concentrating on that overwhelming emotion. Her heart was beating like a double bass drum beat in her chest, and it felt like she was going into cardiac arrest. She noticed that her hands were gripping the comforter into her fists, and her knuckles ached. She was breathing hard—not with desire but with fear. She was covered in cool perspiration as she waited for something bad, something horrible…

something unspoken

…and the fear gripped her in its vice. She couldn’t let it go. Every time he touched her with his tongue, it got worse, and she was nearly paralyzed. She was almost ready to jump off the bed and run down the stairs and out of his house, nudity be damned. But she owed him more than that. “Stone.” He paused but didn’t move his head. “Stone, stop. Please stop.”

Oh, fucking hell. She realized she was on the verge of tears. Where the fuck had that come from?

“What’s wrong?”

One tear dropped. What the fuck? She was not the crying kind. She’d been through too much, seen too much to let her emotions control her like that and yet…they were. She could feel it then—a dam inside ready to burst, on the verge of spilling over, and his question only weakened it. “I don’t know.” The words came out—forced—and she could barely hear them. That was when the tears began to flow, gush, stream out of her eyes like a downpour. She was sobbing like a baby by the time he was on the bed beside her.

“Talk to me, Kory.”

But she couldn’t. She cried aloud, unsure of what was happening, until she saw Art’s face in her mind, and then it all came fucking clear as day.