Ah. He probably shouldn’t have Googled classical music terms because the comparisons were distracting him from the raw carnal delight she drew across him as though he were the instrument and she the bow.
But then all thoughts of Google and cellos and, well, everything flew from his head.
She took him deep and hummed around him. He was sure he recognized the tune, but didn’t care. The vibrato sent wild spires of delight snaking through him. She eased up, but slowly. Then did it again. And again.
“Jesus,” he growled and tightened his grip in her hair.
She took guidance well and immediately changed her rhythm, increasing her plunges and moving in time to his direction. He felt like the maestro of a magnificent nocturne.
Pressure rose within him, and he wriggled restlessly. Thrust his hips.
She opened her throat and took him in, took over, consumed him, destroyed him. She drew him out on a rack of pleasure so intense, he forgot to breathe. Sucking him, pumping him at the base, finishing her song around him as he reached his crescendo.
Yeah. With a loud, feral howl wrenched from the depths of his being.
The bliss was blinding. Cum exploded from him in jet after seemingly-endless jet. Only when it was over, only when he had absolutely nothing left to give, did she raise her head.
Her smile was beatific.
The droplet of his cum on her lower lip didn’t hurt.
He grabbed her cheeks with both hands and held her still. Bent and kissed her, taking her mouth with savage gratitude, tasting himself on her tongue, drawing it in, soothing her, worshiping her, ravaging her, as she had ravaged him.
His only regret?
He probably wouldn’t recover for hours.
And he wanted her.
He wanted to be in her.
He wanted it desperately.
Chapter Eight
He was wrong.
He recovered in fifteen minutes.
Which, all things considered, was excellent.
It was a surprise to feel his passion rise again so quickly, but then again, maybe not. There was something about holding her there on the sofa, holding her and stroking her and having her nuzzle his neck, his chin, his lips.
She smelled wonderful. Felt so right in his arms. A bundle of soft, sweet woman molded to his side. The little sounds she made deep in her throat as she tasted his skin lit a fire within him.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shining, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”
Thank God he’d taken the time to tidy up. He’d even made the bed, which he rarely did. But he was glad he had. Dylan never spent much time or energy trying to impress people, but for some reason, he wanted to impress Cassie.
She could discover the truth— he really wasn’t a tidy person in the slightest—later. After.
When they stepped into his bedroom, she stiffened. Only a bit, but he felt it. And he knew. He knew it was her nerves. So he pulled her close and walked backwards toward the bed, distracting her with his kiss. He could still taste his essence on her lips, which excited him.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “So perfect.”
He ignored her snort and made his way along her delicate jaw to nibble her earlobe. She hissed in a breath. So he did it again.
Yeah. He was hard again, already, but this would be a slow, sweet fuck. He would make her howl and beg and thrash before he took her. Before he buried himself in her.
He eased her onto the bed and kissed his way down her neck and over her collarbone.
He loved a beautifully shaped collarbone. Hers was fine and exquisitely arched. He lapped at the little hollows, sucking and nipping as he nimbly unbuttoned her blouse. It spoke to her elegance and style, that blouse, but damn, it had a lot of buttons.
When he finished the interminable row, he spread the lapels and gazed down at Cassie, well, at her breasts, encased in a lacy bra. His breath hitched. His pulse throbbed. Reverently he cupped her. Thumbed the two rigid peaks.
She wriggled restlessly.
“Do you like this?” he asked.
“Yes.” A breath. A sigh.
He dipped his head and took one tip in his mouth, enrobing her in his heat. Sucking gently with rhythmic tugs. God, he wanted to do that skin to skin. He wanted to taste her.
But he was determined to take his time. To ratchet up her pleasure. So he didn’t rip off her bra as he wanted to do. Instead, he nuzzled the other nipple and slowly eased his hand down to the snap of her jeans.
“Dylan, Jesus.” She growled and pulled away. His gut clenched. But only for a second, because she pulled away to rip off her jeans and toss them onto the floor. Where they belonged.
The bra followed.
His breath hitched at the beauty she revealed.
Perfect, creamy mounds crested by tantalizing brown nipples.
He was drawn to them like a bee to nectar.
He lapped, curling his tongue around one turgid peak, and then the other. Sipping, sucking, feasting until she fisted her fingers in his hair and arched into him and whimpered.
Only then, did he continue his exploration.
And ah, was there a bounty to explore!
The skin on her abdomen was velvety smooth. His caress roved, impatiently, loving the little goose bumps rising at his touch. Over her ribs, down a gentle slope to her flat belly, over to the curve of her hips. And then, finally, as though he had been thinking of anything else, to the juncture of her thighs.
Her heat met him.
He lifted his head and found her gaze as he cupped her mound. She shivered. “Dylan.” She mouthed his name. A wordless plea.
He responded. Because he knew. He knew what she wanted. And he wanted it too.
He slipped beneath the band of her delightfully innocent white cotton panties and traced her crease. Just traced it.
Her animalistic growl rumbled around him.
“You like this?” The words stuck in his throat. He felt like a schoolboy on an illicit date. Excited and worried and horny as hell.
“More.” A groan. “More.”
Watching her expression like the predator he was, he delved deeper between her steamy folds. Nudged her clit. Teased the tip. She hissed in a breath and threw back her head. He circled her. Her thighs spread wider. Hips pumped with impatient demand.
But still, he teased her, reveling in the warm cream coating her slit.
He chuckled when she pushed him away, sat up and ripped her panties off.
He didn’t even notice where they fell. Didn’t care. Because now she lay bare before him.
Cassie.
Something shifted inside him. The sweet, patient man, determined to tease and delight her, faded. What rose up in his place was a beast. A hungry, snarling beast driven by the urge to have her, possess her, fuck her.
He wrenched her thighs apart, baring her core. Her scent, arousal and heat wafted toward him, enflaming him. His heart battered his chest in a manic tattoo.
He couldn’t help it. He buried his face in her crotch. Breathing her in. Tasting her. Consuming her. She squealed a little at the ferocity of his attack, but she spread her legs wider and, after a minute, began pushing up, mutely demanding more and more.
So he gave it to her.
Licking her juices, nuzzling and nipping at her swollen clit, he eased two fingers inside. And nearly lost his mind. Nearly came right then and there. She was hot inside. Hot and slick and tight as ever loving hell. Blistering need coiled around the base of his cock and he groaned. He pulled out and shoved in deeper, with more force.
She stiffened. Clenched. Came around him.
He had to look up. Had to watch. Had to see the ecstasy on her features.
It was too exquisite to end. So he played with her, extending her rapture, toying with her, exploring her, finding and stroking the spot that made her gasp, made her quake, made her whip her head from side to side and wail.
She was a wild thing in the grip of passion.
But as much as he enjoyed tormenting her, his cock ached. His soul ached. He wanted nothing—nothing—more than to sink into her sweet embrace.
Still working her, he fumbled with the nightstand drawer until he found the box of condoms. He cursed himself for not opening it earlier, not preparing as he should have. It was a bitch to open with one hand, but he did—ripping it to shreds in the process—and yanked out a foil packet.
He opened it with his teeth and, his gaze still locked to Cassie’s exquisite countenance, he slipped the condom on.
She watched him from beneath feathery lashes, a lazy smile on her lips as he positioned himself over her. She spread her legs again, welcoming him, her palm on his hip, guiding him.
Little did she know, he needed no such guidance.
His cock was a heat-seeking missile.
He fisted himself and nudged her. She sighed and lifted her hips, just a tad. He eased in. His mind seized.
She was so tight. Her cunt was like a vise.
His eyes crossed. His pulse pounded. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“God,” he hissed, pushing deeper and deeper still. “God.”
“Dy-lan.” Her voice broke on his name. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and clung to him, working him with her inner muscles. The pleasure nearly blinded him.
He hadn’t been inside a woman for three years. It was worth the wait.
She was worth the wait.
He took a moment, seated deep within her, to enjoy, appreciate, memorize the moment.
And then he started to move.
He began slowly, fully intending to fuck her gently, easing in and out with long, languorous strokes. But his resolve crumbled quickly when she buried her nails in the flesh of his ass and tugged his cheeks apart. A sizzle of delight snaked up his spine.
The beast arose in him again. And this time, it would not be chained. Dylan pulled out and shoved in, again and again, pummeling her in a mad, blind frenzy. Each plunge drove him higher and higher. She moaned and wriggled and scored his back, rising with him, rising in a tight, hard spiral.
It was as though they were one, riding the wave together, a violent tumult, a magnificent torment.
He knew when she came again, reveled in the agonizing torture of her grip on his shaft. But he did not let up.
Heat gathered at the base of his cock. Shards of agony and ecstasy wracked his tightening balls. He clenched against the burn of cum boiling to escape. He held back.
Because it was too good. He didn’t want it to end. Not yet.
Watching her breasts heave with each lunge and, unable to resist, he suckled her nipples again. Nipped. Bit.
She went wild around him. Scratching, howling, bathing him with her bliss.
This time, when she came, her cunt opened, relaxed. Dylan fought back a shudder as the need to explode rode him. Fought back the urge and thrust deeper, as deep as he could go. He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything as perfect as this moment.
He closed his eyes and released. Gave it. Gave it all to her in a rushing welter.
He came.
And came.
And came.
And when he was finished, when he was depleted and replete, he pulled her into his arms and held her and stroked her and murmured nonsense into the soft shell of her ear.
He didn’t let her see his tears. She wouldn’t understand.
But, somehow, she had saved him.
Chapter Nine
Cassie nestled closer into Dylan’s strong embrace and gusted a sigh.
Good lord, had that been tremendous.
She’d been with men before—at least she’d thought she had. Now she wasn’t so sure.
No man had ever fucked her so completely.
Dylan had lost control. Become a wild man in his passion. There had been no conversation, no gentle directions, no awkward negotiation. Simply pleasure. And fucking. Raw, blatant, needy.
He made her feel like she was the only thing on earth that mattered to him.
It was a novel experience.
And a little scary.
Because the feelings creeping into her heart for this man were far beyond what they should be. They’d just met. She knew very little about him.
In her life, caution had always been a watchword. When she was young, her parents had not allowed her to play with other children—because she might injure her hands. Besides, she’d been too busy practicing. They’d picked her schools, chosen her clothes, managed her schedules. When she became old enough to date, they had vetted the prospects. Everything in her life had been ordered and controlled.
Her feelings for Dylan were not ordered or controlled in the slightest.
Yes. It was frightening. But exciting as hell.
She peeped up at him, reveling in the sharp cut of his jaw, the sprinkles of scruff on his chin. His eyes were closed. His breathing heavy, erratic. His pulse thudded beneath her palm.
Instinctively, her fingers flexed.
He opened his eyes and gazed down at her. His arms tightened, infinitesimally.
“Hey there,” he said. His lips quirked in a smile which was, all things considered, surprisingly shy.
“Hey there.” She shimmied up his body and kissed the underside of his chin. “That was…” Words failed her. But he understood.
“It was.”
She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and wrapped herself around him even more. He fumbled for a blanket and covered them both. Now that the passion had waned, the room was cool. She nuzzled deeper, tracing the tattoo on his left shoulder with a fingertip. It was a beautiful piece, a savage dragon.
He made love like a dragon, she thought. Wild and feral and shrouded in flames.
“Tell me about your tattoo.” She didn’t know why she asked. Probably because she wanted to extend the moment, the connection. And conversation was the only way she knew how to do that without a bow in her hand.
He raised his arm to give her the full effect. Then bunched his muscles for good measure. The dragon undulated.
She laughed.
“I was a kid when I joined the Marines…”
“You were a Marine?” Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.