Dark Slayer - Christine Feehan [165]
Her tongue flicked out and he groaned, lifting his hips helplessly, following her hot mouth, but she pulled away. Her palm cupped his aching balls, rolled and teased, her tongue sending streaks of fire shuddering through his body when she lavished attention, licking her way back up to his shaft.
His breath stopped. His heart missed a beat, and then began to pound. The roar in his head increased and he swore a jackhammer pounded there. His groin felt like a steel spike. He groaned, a soft, husky sound that seemed to compel her to action. She caught his hip in one hand, her fingers digging deep while the fingers of her other hand wrapped around him like a vise. He heard her heart match his own pounding beat. Heard the rush of her blood through her veins like the swell of a tidal wave. He swore in the ancient language, his voice not his own, but hoarse and desperate, and hungry with demand.
She licked him. Licked the broad mushroom head, swirling her tongue over that firm, velvet-soft tip and savoring the pearly drops he leaked in anticipation. His entire body tightened, shuddered, and this time he growled, the sound low, filled with lust while his vision went hazy. “O köd belső—darkness take it. Ivory, you might kill me.”
He had to be in her mouth, in that tight, moist, secret haven. He caught fistfuls of her hair and pushed her head down on him, needing her desperately, unable to wait a moment longer.
Ivory kept her eyes on his, watching the changes in him, drinking them in, glorying in her ability to shake his usual calm. She loved it when he went all demonic on her, growling and bunching her hair in his hands, dragging her closer, thrusting his hips helplessly. She reveled in the way his eyes went from midnight blue to intense black. The way the stripes in his hair deepened. There was something very exhilarating and intensely sexy about the growls rumbling in his chest, the bunch of the muscles in his jaw, that little tic that made her know he was completely gone into another realm.
They were going out this night to hunt the most dangerous enemy the Carpathian people—the world—had ever known, and either might never return. Determination to show him how she felt, what he meant to her, what he brought to her, was in every mesmerizing stroke of her tongue and caress of her fingers. She engulfed his shaft completely, drawing him deep, hollowing her cheeks to tighten the suction around his hard flesh.
He moaned when her teeth scraped gently and her tongue swirled up his shaft to tease at the ultrasensitive spot beneath the flared head. She pulled her head back until her lips were barely skimming over him, watching him, watching his eyes go wide in pleasure, watching his breath come in ragged, harsh gasps.
“Ivory.” There was demand in his voice.
Gone was her slow, smooth lover, the one who took his time taking her over and over the edge, always in complete control, always the one to give so generously and drive her beyond anything she’d ever known. Joy burst through her and she swallowed him, taking him deep, feeling his entire body react, feeling him shudder again as intense pleasure vibrated through him.
The muscles in his thighs jumped with arousal, his stomach bunched in reaction, the heavy muscles of his chest rippled while his arms flexed. But it was his shaft, jerking and pulsing in her mouth, growing thicker even than he’d ever been, that thrilled her. She loved the way he stretched her lips, reveled in the way the hot length of him felt on her tongue, even the way he thrust in short, staccato bursts deeper down her throat where her muscles squeezed and massaged and milked him.
She had planned this moment, this giving to him, this taking, wanting the raw pleasure for him, the