Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [735]
Micah’s hands slid over my hips.
I licked the tip of Nathaniel, slid my mouth over him, took him inch by inch into my mouth, slow, so slow, so we could both enjoy the sensation of it.
I went down about halfway, then back up. We needed him wetter, so he’d slide better. But there’s something about putting that much of a man that far inside your mouth that makes you wet, both above and below.
Micah’s hands spread my legs, his finger plunged inside me. It made me cry out, and shove all of Nathaniel inside my mouth at once.
He put his hand on the back of my head, held me against him, so that I was trapped, and had a moment of choking around him. It wasn’t a gag reflex; it was a suffocation reflex.
He let me go, and I fell back from his body gasping for breath, choking. When I could talk, I said, “Don’t do that again.”
Micah said, “Are you okay?”
I nodded, wasn’t sure he could see it, and said, “Yeah.”
“You do it with the ardeur,” Nathaniel said.
“We’re doing it without tonight.” I think the look I gave him was not entirely friendly.
“I’m sorry, but I’m used to being able to do that.”
“Twice, we’ve done that twice. Twice is not a pattern.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and that look came back to his face, that uncertain, lost look. He started to move, and I grabbed his hips to keep him from moving. He looked down at me, his face so fragile, so hurt, as if all the new bravado were only skin deep: scratch it, and it goes away. I did the only thing I could think of to chase that look from his face. I drew him back into my mouth, sucked him fast and hard, until his head went back and his eyes closed. When he looked at me again, he was smiling, but there was still a flinching around his eyes; a shadow of that hurt. There was only one thing that would take that hurt from his eyes, I had to prove I trusted him. I slipped my mouth over him again, and gave myself over to the pleasure of him filling my mouth. I let my face show just how much I enjoyed the sensation of all that velvet muscle inside my mouth. The sensation of it wet and slick from my own saliva. But I didn’t stop at the comfort point, that point where it just feels good and full. I sucked past that point where my body told me too much. I sucked until my mouth met his body, and there was no inch to spare. I sucked until he was shoved as hard and deep inside my throat as I could manage. I sucked until my body stopped complaining about needing to gag and started to complain about needing to breathe. But I’d learned to be able to fight past that, too. I stayed there, pressed tight and solid against his body, until he looked down at me, stayed until my throat convulsed, spasming around the length of him. He stared down at me, his eyes wild, eager, and something more. His hands stayed in a death grip on the headboard, as if he didn’t quite trust himself. I drew back from him, coughing, before I could get a good breath. I finally let myself swallow all that extra saliva and lay back, panting as if I were behind on my breaths and had to catch up.
His body shivered above me, a shiver of pleasure that went all the way up his body, to throw his head back, close his eyes, bow his spine, as if the memory alone were that intense, and for Nathaniel it might have been. He finally looked down at me, eyes slightly unfocused. He smiled, and said, “Thank you.” And the look on his face held something much more precious to me than passion; it held soft gratitude, wonder, love, for lack of a better word. There were men who loved me who never wore a look like that. Maybe it was his youth, or his years of therapy, or his lack of hang-ups. What Nathaniel felt he felt down to his toes, no hiding, no holding back, not once he gave himself to someone. It had been one of the things that made him such a danger to himself with the wrong person. With the right person he was magnificient in his abandon. He put the rest of us to shame with our wariness, our unease,