by Rise of Hope
He looked at her for a second before he motioned for her to come in and shut the door.
“What are you doing here? It’s late.”
An open duffel bag sat on the huge bed. Her stomach clenched. He sounded none too happy to see her. This really could be her last chance.
“I—I still have questions.”
“Yeah?” He turned away and tossed a couple of bunched-up shirts into the bag. “I’d say Noah’s got that covered.”
“I—I still have questions for you, Seth.”
It felt good to use his name, too good. She could almost fool herself into thinking that’s what caused him to pause, his jaw to clench.
“I’m the last person you should be asking. Ask Noah. He has all the answers—or as much as he’s willing to share anyway.”
Devon’s mind was overloaded with information, with trying to grasp everything that had happened, trying to reconcile it with what she’d known, yet all she could do was stare at him, at his naked chest. She’d seen it plenty on the day he’d rescued her, but this was different. Completely. All he had on was a towel, a towel that dipped low on his lean hips so that she could see the defined cut of his muscles there. And the marks. She could see the tops of his marks.
Beautiful, so beautiful.
She raised her hand toward him without thinking, not sure what she intended, but froze when he flinched, leaned back out of her reach.
Of course. He wouldn’t want her to touch him. Not now. Maybe no one ever would. Not regular touching, anyway. Did it really matter? It wasn’t as if it was anything she’d miss. Right? She curled her hand into a fist and fought to keep her face impassive.
“Sorry,” she choked. “It’s hard to remember.”
“Remember what?”
She could understand why those who’d raised her had forbidden touch. Even though it was still hard to fathom, she’d be a risk to them. To everyone. And it scared the hell out of her.
“That no one wants me to touch them. Because of what I might make them do.”
“Devon, that’s got nothing—”
“Right.”
She gasped when he stepped to her, grabbed her wrists and forced her hands against his chest. Her heart rate jumped. He was so warm and it felt like forever since she’d felt warm. She hesitated for an instant before she relaxed her clenched fingers and spread them out until her palms rested flat against his skin. She trembled at the sensation that skated up her arms, down into her abdomen and then lower, arrowing sharply between her legs.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his soap, the cleanness of his skin. Of him. She glanced down and swallowed, trying to ignore the bulge his body made under the towel and failing miserably.
Now. It had to be now.
“Noah won’t say anything about the marks. He said it was for you to tell me.”
“Devon…”
“I’d like to see.”
“See?” he choked out.
“The marks—your marks—if it’s okay.”
“Devon, I’m naked here.”
Close, but not exactly.
She raised her gaze to his. “I don’t care.”
“Yeah, well I might.”
“Please…”
Her throat went dry when he let go of her hands and reached for the edge of the towel. His eyes were dark, hot, riveted to hers.
“Remember,” he rasped. “You asked for it. Okay?”
She nodded. She doubted she’d be able to speak, then she knew for sure when the towel fell to the floor.
Oh. God.
She dropped her hands and stepped back to make sure she had an unimpeded view. She’d seen pictures before, of course she had. She’d always thought a man’s private parts kind of odd looking and hardly attractive, but…the pictures hadn’t prepared her for anything like this. Seth was thick and long, hard, his testicles full and heavy beneath. And no more wondering. His body was as smooth as hers. Everywhere. He looked big and male and so incredibly beautiful with the dark scrolls etched into his skin, he took her breath away.
“Seth, it…the marks…they go right onto your…”
* * *
Cock.
Yeah and Devon was staring right at it, making no attempt to hide her interest, not even a pretense at it. And he was hard, more than. He drew in a deep, shuddering gulp of air because he wasn’t going to be anything but hard for the foreseeable future if she kept looking at him like that.
To Seth the best type of sex was fast sex—always had been—and he’d rarely allowed a woman to get a good look at his marks. He might be a lot of things, but outright lying didn’t sit well with him and he’d never wanted to field the inevitable questions. Then there’d always been the risk of seeming like a freak. Of having to explain the why of it—not that he could. He’d never wanted to have to deal with that.
And it hadn’t seemed right to share them with anyone.
Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. She didn’t look horrified or disgusted or morbidly fascinated. He hated that reaction the most. Actually, she just looked fascinated.
“Yeah, the last year the marks came.”
They’d started appearing when he was sixteen and each year after that, a little more at a time. That last year, when they’d spread to cover his cock, they’d hurt like a bitch so he’d been glad when it was done with.
“I didn’t get any more after that.”
“Do they all— I mean do all the men…”
“I don’t make a habit of checking out other guy’s dicks.” And he didn’t really like the idea of her thinking about the other guys and their cocks either.
She reached out a hand and he went still. He’d been braced for a more intimate touch, but the gentle slide of her fingertip as she traced the outer edge of one scroll at his hip still almost brought him to his knees. Need roared through him—hot, urgent, savage—but he reined it back. If she had even an idea of what was inside him, what he really wanted and how badly, she’d be running from him. As far and as fast as she could.
He took a deep breath. “Now you.” His voice was harsh, but he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Ever since he’d first seen her own markings he’d ached to see them again, ached until it was a pounding urge he could barely contain.
Her gaze swung up to his, locked on and he saw the hesitation, the uncertainty.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve already seen you naked, had my hands over every part of you.” But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Not for what had been in his head, what still was.
He watched her, trembling like some horny, inexperienced kid, as she eased out of her jeans and kicked them aside, his mind exploding with where he wanted to touch, how he wanted to touch. As it was, he had to clench his fists at his sides to stop from reaching out to her, to stop from ripping the clothes from her because she was moving too damn slow.
“The rest,” he managed, his voice rough.
“But—”
“It’s only fair. I’m standing here buck naked after all.”
He wanted nothing to obstruct his view. Nothing. He wanted her naked, only her. And the marks.
His mouth went dry with the way her small breasts lifted as she took the T-shirt off over her head, his blood a roaring in his ears when it dropped to the floor, need a pounding force throughout his body when her fingers gripped the edge of her panties and stopped.
He bracketed her hips in his hands, felt her tremble. Or that might have been him. He rubbed his thumbs across her skin, brushing the edge of the marks on her abdomen. Jesus, they were so fucking beautiful against her pale skin and to know they were his, that she was branded with his marks…his hands shook at the thought of it.
He dropped to his knees, hooked his finge
rs in the elastic of her tiny panties and eased them down her legs. He leaned forward and put his mouth to her, right where the wound had been, the wound he’d had a hand in creating. He trailed his lips against her, her taste rocketing his senses as he traced a swirl that dipped low down above her sex. He smiled savagely to himself when she threaded fingers into the hair at the back of his head, urging him against her, because he was pretty sure she had no idea what she was doing.
He inhaled deeply. He could smell her, the scent of her feminine heat, the arousal she had no way of hiding from him, and in that instant there was no way he could have stopped himself from tasting her.
He forced himself to go slow, using his tongue to lap against her slowly, when all he really wanted to do was back her up against the wall, lift a thigh up onto his shoulder and devour her, licking and sucking against her until she came screaming, moaning, and then he’d start all over again. Instead, he fought to keep his touch light, but it was enough for her taste to explode against his tongue.
“Seth,” she moaned as he lifted his head and licked against the smooth skin of her abdomen again, tracing another of the dark swirls with his tongue. “We’re connected somehow. I don’t think even you can deny that. I feel it. And I want to know why.”
He looked up into her hooded gaze. There was a flush high on her cheeks, her breathing uneven.
“Don’t you feel it, too?” she tried again when he didn’t say anything.
It roared into him, through him. The need. He’d fought with it since the last year he’d gotten his marks, fought daily to keep it in check, to keep it reined in under some semblance of control until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he had no choice but to sate it. But this? This thing he was feeling with Devon? The emotions that lashed at him? For her? It was nothing compared to that. Nothing. It paled into fucking insignificance.
“Yeah. I do.”
He should have denied it, he’d meant to, but he couldn’t. Not with his hands shaking with the need to touch her, really touch her, his body straining for her, everything in him clamoring with the need to take, to claim.
He shouldn’t have kissed her either. Not there. He still didn’t understand why he’d done it apart from the fact that for the first time in his life he’d done something without thinking, without coldly analyzing it, without weighing the odds. He’d just gone with it and the result was the sweetest fucking thing he’d ever experienced.
He stood, his legs shaking as if he’d run a marathon. He grasped her hand, urged it against him.
And the beast went into overdrive.
“Touch me,” he demanded roughly, the words torn from him. He needed, so bad…
“I would.” He felt her hand tremble as she lifted her gaze to his. “If I knew how.”
“What?” he choked out.
“I’ve never… No one has ever been allowed to touch me, remember?”
Aw fuck.
Of course. He tried to grab for the control he’d always prided himself on and only managed it because of the savage fury that roared through him in its place. Because now he knew what she’d had to endure, what they’d forced her to endure.
“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” he blurted, letting her hand drop from him.
Jesus, he could barely remember being one himself. How the hell could he do this? And why was he even considering it?
“I’m not completely without knowledge, Seth,” she whispered. “I mean, I know the mechanics—”
“Christ,” he bit out. “Theory doesn’t count for much when it comes to this.”
He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. It was a dumbass idea to begin with. It should have never even gotten this far, he should never have let it.
“Devon, I don’t—I’m not—I’m out of my league here. With this, with all of it.”
It was a first. He was always so sure of himself, always knew without any doubt exactly what needed to be done—but this, with her? No clue.
“Just…do whatever you’d normally do.”
Was she serious?
“If I did that, I’d be inside you and we’d be fucking already.”
Hell, the whole thing might already have been over by now.
If only she knew. His standard MO wasn’t going to cut it here. God help him, he wanted to linger over her, touch and kiss her all over, and he wanted it to last, as long as he could make it last.
“Have you ever even seen a naked man? Aroused?”
“You mean hard?” Her gaze dropped. “Like you are?”
The wide eyes were answer enough, but he didn’t need her romanticizing this, him.
“Devon…” He took a deep breath. “Women, sex and me? Not a great combination.”
“Is that right?”
He frowned. “Yeah. It’s… Sex is hot and sweaty, down and dirty. It’s not soft and gentle. At least it’s not with me. And I don’t do repeat performances.”
At least, he never had before.
“You have a lot of…pre-requisites.”
His mouth thinned. He just hoped she was hearing him.
“Do you ever touch yourself? Finger yourself?”
His balls tightened at the thought of her hand between her legs, making herself come, because the rush of color into her cheeks gave him his answer. He could barely stand the images that exploded in his head.
The need that blasted through him then was violent, brutal, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And he fought with it every step of the way as he urged her backward to the bed, easing her down until she lay on her back. She was a little shy, a lot uncertain, but her expression held a whole hell of a lot of anticipation.
He closed his eyes briefly, thought about her inexperience. Despite the painful hardness of his body, the inferno that gripped him, the savage pounding through every nerve ending, he had to claim her. He didn’t care if he came or not—he’d make it all about her. Yeah, it’d be all about her, he’d do whatever he could to make it good for her, because there was no way he couldn’t touch her now. No fucking way.
He eased her legs apart. She was completely smooth, silky smooth. And she was wet, he could see how wet she was and his mouth went dry, the blood roared in his ears. He put his hand between her legs, groaned at the heat, the silken wetness that eased the slide of his fingers against her. She was so fucking soft. He eased a fingertip against the small nub of her clit, applied a gentle pressure and clenched his jaw at the jerky movements of her hips, her choppy breath, the teeth she used on her lower lip.
Oh yeah.
He parted her legs further, making enough room for himself, and lifted her thighs to his shoulders.
Holy fuck.
She was beautiful, gorgeous and right now…all his.
And then he put his mouth to her. The feel, taste, the scent of her exploded inside him as he licked at her, firm but gentle laps, giving her time to get used to the intimate touch. He used every ounce of his experience, his expertise, everything he knew to please her, pleasure her and smiled savagely to himself when he saw her hands fisted in the bed cover, felt the movements of her hips, now thrusting in perfect counter to the lash of his tongue.
She gasped when he sucked gently against her clit.
“It hurts,” she whimpered.
A wash of ice went through him as he lifted his head. “I’m hurting you?”
She arched beneath his hands. “It feels so good…it hurts. Please, Seth… Touch me. Harder. Please.”
He released his breath in a rush he directed across the sensitive flesh between her legs and everything in him clenched when she whimpered again. Her eyes were half closed, her cheeks flushed, her mouth slightly open. If he’d worried if he was giving her pleasure, he didn’t need to any longer. Pleasure. Lust. Wonder. All were stamped on her features.
Her legs moved restlessly, rubbing against the hot skin of his shoulders, her lower body thrusting, jerking in his hold. Yeah, he was in a world of hurt himself. The roaring in his head, the agonizing hardness of his body, demanded he do something about it—now—except the need to pleasure her was more, so much more.
“You just need to come,” he murmured.
* * *
Orgasm.
Devon knew about orgasms—or thought she did. Now she had to wonder because no amount of stimulation, of touching herself and fantasizing, had created sensations like this. And she knew—this—with Seth, would be unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. If she managed to survive it.
“No, it’s too…it’s too much,” she managed.
She was still trying to get used to the sensation of him over her, the feeling of skin against skin and his mouth…there. It was sharp, acute, the flesh between her legs aching, stinging, so that it almost felt like pain it was so strong.
“You’re close, Devon,” he whispered, his dark eyes glittering as he looked up at her. “So close. Let me make you come.”
His breath was hot as he blew against her again, hot and arousing, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
Oh God.
“Yes, yes…make me come.”
Devon opened her mouth to call back the rash plea, but he groaned, lowered his head again and the only sound that came from her was a ragged moan when his lips, his tongue, brushed against her, searing her, igniting her.
A thick finger circled her, spreading her moisture, and she gasped when he began to press inside. She arched up to meet the pressure, needing it, mad for it, all the while he licked at her, his hot tongue unforgiving.
When he eased his finger in and then out, over and over, she groaned at the shallow thrusts that only served to tantalize, tease, when she wanted more, so much more.
He was focused, relentless, driving her to a frenzy of need and then none of it mattered because that sharp sting between her legs turned to pure, blistering ecstasy. She threw her head back as she came, anchoring her fingers in his hair as wave upon wave of sweet release pulsed over her, through her, every nerve ending exploding to tingling life until all that was left was sweet, rich pleasure.
