Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [98]
“You can go, Hal. Keep me safe by patrolling the island. Find rats.”
Tasty. Hal’s lips peeled back as he shot Ares a warning look. He is danger.
Yes, he was, but she didn’t say anything, simply clung to Ares as Hal disappeared over the wall. She expected Ares to release her, but instead, he kissed her again. “I hate your dog,” he muttered against her lips. “I want him to be stuffed and mounted on my wall. But I’m tired of fighting him, you, and myself.”
Himself? “What does that mean?”
His long fingers swept over his throat, over that tiny crescent scar, and his armor melted away, leaving her crushed against his chest. His thigh parted hers, and she nearly moaned at the delicious pressure of his hard muscle against her core. “It means that sometimes, to win a war, you have to change tactics.” He smiled against her mouth. “I’m flexible like that.”
He swept her up, and before she could protest—or encourage him—he laid her out on the patio couch. The cushions sank deep under their weight. His calloused palm slid beneath her sweatshirt, and he shuddered when he reached her bare breasts.
“No bra,” he said against her mouth. “Thank you. I hate those things. Dumbest human invention. Ever.”
She captured his hand, encouraging his touch, loving the way he was both gentle and rough, a combination of long strokes over her flesh and stinging pinches on her nipples. Her breasts swelled, ached, and as if he knew she was wanting more, he stripped her sweatshirt off, tossed it to the ground, and took her in his mouth. He drew deep, his tongue rasping over her sensitive nipples, leaving her dazed, breathless, and oh so wet.
“Yesssss…” Her moan of pleasure floated into the twilight, joining the crash of waves and the distant call of sea birds. This was the most beautiful thing she’d ever experienced, a moment she’d remember forever.
Forever might be very short.
Flushing the depressing thought from her mind, she dug her nails into his shoulders and arched her back, needing to feel the entire length of his body against hers. His thighs parted her legs, putting his sex where she wanted it, and as she writhed and his hips rolled, heat built at her center, and lust intoxicated her.
It didn’t take long before he was working her jeans’ zipper, and her hands were just as frantic, tearing open his pants to release his massive length. The moment it sprang free, she took the shaft in her fist, reveling in the desperate male sound that broke from his throat.
His gaze gleamed with hunger as it locked with hers. Lips parted to allow for his panting breaths, he braced himself on one arm and slid his palm under her panties. His fingers slipped between her folds, and he groaned.
“You’re so wet.” One finger pushed inside her, and she nearly came. “So tight.”
“I thought I was too weak for you.” She squeezed his cock, rubbed her finger in the drop of wetness at the tip, and he hissed in pleasure.
“I was wrong,” he rasped. “I’ve seen how you handle Battle, Hal… and me. I was so fucking wrong.”
He leaped off the sofa, yanked her jeans from her legs, and then stripped out of his clothes. When he was done, he stood in front of her, a stunning work of masculinity. And, to her delight, he was as smooth and hairless between his legs as he was on his chest. Her heart jerked as he palmed his straining erection.
“I never do this.” He squeezed himself, and she became glued to the motion he began—long, slow pumps of his fist down the length and back up to swallow the head as he delivered a little twist.
“Um… you never… masturbate?”
His eyes were slits behind his heavy lids, but the intensity was in no way diminished. “I never slow it down like this. It’s always rough and hard with a female.” He sank down between her legs, but he never stopped the erotic play with his penis. “It’s always been about the release. The who-can-fuck-who-the-hardest.”
Images of him