With Every Heartbeat(134)

“So after the spider injects his venom, he retreats a safe distance to let her die.”

“Check,” I murmured in a dazed voice as I remained collapsed against the wall. “I definitely feel limp enough to be half dead.”

Quinn’s smile was as deadly as it was smugly adorable when he glanced up from stepping out of his boxer shorts. My gaze went directly to his cock as it bobbed away from him, hard and long and so freaking thick. The droplet of pre-cum beading from the head made my mouth water.

“Did you know the French call an orgasm la petite mort, the little death? Because of that near state of unconsciousness after coming so hard?”

I shook my head, watching the flash of his white canines and remembering what they’d just done to me. “No,” I said, “but it makes sense.” I could die a happy girl right about now.

Setting one hand on the wall, he used the other to take himself in hand and guide his cock to me. “But back to your lesson. Spider venom not only kills his victim, but it also liquefies all her organs because he can’t process solid foods.”’

Oh, yeah. He’d definitely liquefied my insides. I felt like nothing but a gooey pile of mush. But I was so far past creepy, crawly spider talk. When Quinn Hamilton was touching himself, there was only one thing on my mind.

“Is it bad that I’ve become obsessed with this part of you?” I asked, reaching out so I could wrap my hand around his girth.

He clenched his teeth and a raspy sound exited his throat. “No,” he said as he leaned in to press his lips against my forehead as he let me play. “I like your obsession with it.”

I ran my fingers over him, intrigued by the thickest vein running down the entire length. I smiled, knowing that if I asked him, he’d probably know the scientific name of that vein.

His voice was strained as he squeezed his eyes closed. “Your touch is so gentle and soft.”

I glanced up and studied his face as I gripped him again and slowly pumped him. “Is that bad?”

“No. But it’s driving me insane. You can…you can be rougher…if you want.”

“Rougher?” I repeated, very interested by the idea. I could tell by his expression that rougher was exactly what he wanted. “Why you naughty, naughty boy,” I leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Show me how rough you want it.”

He growled and instantly covered my hand, squeezing my fingers harder around his erection. Then he picked up the speed, helping me jerk him off.

“Oh God.” I squeezed my legs together as I watched. “I think I’m going to come again.”

“You better believe you are.”

Abruptly letting go of my hand, he gripped my hips and lifted me higher against the wall. I squeaked in surprise and let go of his cock to grip his shoulders. As soon as he had me positioned where he wanted me, he thrust forward, impaling me at an angle that had me crying out and instantly constricting around him. It was rough and fast and utterly amazing.

Afterward, he gently carried my limp remains to the couch, where he curled onto the cushions with me and cradled me into his arms. He was so tender and kind it made me melt against him and close my eyes with a satisfied sigh. The soft teddy bear had returned after taking me with an animalistic passion. I loved both extremes.

In the quiet aftermath, after we recovered from our near-death experience, he stroked my hair while I ran my fingernails up his back, following the grooves of his scars like I was working my way through a maze.

He shivered and hummed deep in his throat. “That feels so good. You will not believe how much they itch sometimes.”

I opened my eyes, surprised he was actually bringing attention to his scars. “Do they really?” I made sure to keep doing exactly what I was doing. He rewarded me by relaxing deeper into me, his huge beautiful body growing deliciously heavy as his face nestled into my hair.

“How did you get them anyway?” I didn’t change the speed or pressure of my administration, hoping to God I hadn’t triggered anything bad by asking.

But he remained completely lax against me. “That actually came from one of my mom’s men. Not her.”

I couldn’t contain a horrified gasp as I hugged him to me.

He hugged me back. “She liked to pick guys who could get as drunk mean as she did.”

“Was it a belt?” I asked. When he nodded, I shuddered and tried not to gag. “It must’ve been awful. My dad took a belt to me a few times, but it only left a mark once when he used the wrong end.”

Quinn’s hand went to the back of my knee as if he remembered seeing that mark and knew where it had come from. “Yeah, well, this guy thought the wrong end was actually the right end to use on an eight-year-old boy.”