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A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 153 из 338That dark knowledge in his eyes was gone, chased away by sheer need. It was so raw on his face, I knew I'd taken the game too far. I held the nightshirt in front of my breasts, not sure how to apologize without making things more awkward than they already were.
"No," he said, "don't cover them. You surprised me, that's all."
"No, Doyle. We can't finish this, and for you, especially… I'm sorry." I started to slip the shirt back on.
His fingers tightened painfully around my thighs, fingertips digging into the skin. He made me gasp and look at him with the shirt only on my arms.
His voice was dark with command, a barely contained rage that made his eyes shine like black jewels. "No!"
That one word froze me where I was, left me staring down at him with wide eyes and my heart beating like a trapped thing in my throat.
"No," he said, voice only a breath less severe, "no, I want to see them. I'm going to make you writhe, my princess, and I want to watch your body while I do it."
I let the shirt fall to the bed and sat up, as close to him as I could get. His grip on my thighs had passed the point of pleasure and become simply pain, but that, too, under the right set of circumstances, was a kind of pleasure.
His fingers eased back just a little, and I saw that he'd left the marks of his fingernails in my thighs. The little half-moon marks filled with blood as I watched.
He started to move his hands out from under my thighs, but I shook my head no. "You're down there, and I'm up here, remember."
He didn't argue, just settled his hands back around my thighs, not hurting this time, just solid enough that I couldn't move away. I ran my hands over my stomach, upward to cup my breasts, then lay down propped against the pillows so he could see me.
He stared at me for long seconds, as if he'd memorize the way my body lay among the dark-colored pillows, then his mouth settled against the wound. He licked it with thick, slow movements of his tongue. Then his mouth locked over the wound and he began to suck. He drew on the skin so tightly that it hurt, as if he were sucking some deep poison out or the wound.
The pain raised me up, and he rolled his eyes to me full of that dark knowledge that he hadn't earned. I laid back against the bed with the pressure of his mouth on my thigh, his strong fingers digging into my thighs hard enough that I knew tomorrow I'd be bruised. My skin had started to glow, glimmering in the soft bedroom light.
I stared down at him, but his eyes were turned downward, concentrating on his work.
"No," he said, "don't cover them. You surprised me, that's all."
"No, Doyle. We can't finish this, and for you, especially… I'm sorry." I started to slip the shirt back on.
His fingers tightened painfully around my thighs, fingertips digging into the skin. He made me gasp and look at him with the shirt only on my arms.
His voice was dark with command, a barely contained rage that made his eyes shine like black jewels. "No!"
That one word froze me where I was, left me staring down at him with wide eyes and my heart beating like a trapped thing in my throat.
"No," he said, voice only a breath less severe, "no, I want to see them. I'm going to make you writhe, my princess, and I want to watch your body while I do it."
I let the shirt fall to the bed and sat up, as close to him as I could get. His grip on my thighs had passed the point of pleasure and become simply pain, but that, too, under the right set of circumstances, was a kind of pleasure.
His fingers eased back just a little, and I saw that he'd left the marks of his fingernails in my thighs. The little half-moon marks filled with blood as I watched.
He started to move his hands out from under my thighs, but I shook my head no. "You're down there, and I'm up here, remember."
He didn't argue, just settled his hands back around my thighs, not hurting this time, just solid enough that I couldn't move away. I ran my hands over my stomach, upward to cup my breasts, then lay down propped against the pillows so he could see me.
He stared at me for long seconds, as if he'd memorize the way my body lay among the dark-colored pillows, then his mouth settled against the wound. He licked it with thick, slow movements of his tongue. Then his mouth locked over the wound and he began to suck. He drew on the skin so tightly that it hurt, as if he were sucking some deep poison out or the wound.
The pain raised me up, and he rolled his eyes to me full of that dark knowledge that he hadn't earned. I laid back against the bed with the pressure of his mouth on my thigh, his strong fingers digging into my thighs hard enough that I knew tomorrow I'd be bruised. My skin had started to glow, glimmering in the soft bedroom light.
I stared down at him, but his eyes were turned downward, concentrating on his work.