Never in my life have I ever felt this way. Never has my core felt so… empty.
He's silent as he stalks toward me, but I'm positive my escalated heart rate is audible.
I shift on my feet, feeling how slick I've become. It's almost embarrassing, yet it's a reaction the men in Francesca's house would claim, but never actually accomplished. They wanted us to weep for them, but the only thing they ever made wet was our eyes.
Cage, on the other hand, easily makes my pussy weep, and he hasn't even touched me yet.
He stops an inch before me, the heat radiating from him warming my skin. Goosebumps scatter across my flesh, and a shiver tumbles down my spine. It feels as if bees are buzzing beneath the surface, their fluttering wings creating electricity and engulfing my body in it.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks quietly.
It's a question that requires a simple answer. Yes or no. Yet, my brain turns it over as if he presented me with a complicated math equation.
The throbbing between my legs screams its answer, though my head can do nothing but focus on how I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.
“I-I'm not very good at this,” I mumble, keeping my eyes pinned to his chest. I'm not brave enough to meet his stare. It'll eat me alive, and I'm too afraid that I’ll allow it to chase me away before I can let him touch me.
“Has anyone made you feel good before?”
I lick my lips, feeling like any moisture in my body has flooded south.
“No.”
“Then that's all you need to do. You don’t need to do anything else, except let me make you feel good.”
My nod is choppy, and the butterflies in my stomach have been freed. But they're hungry, too, and they've begun to tear at my insides. Especially as his forefinger hooks beneath my chin and forces it up, until my stare snaps to his like a magnet.
“Where do you want me to kiss first?” he asks, his tone hushed, deep and rough.
Silently, I reach up and brush my fingers across my lips, drawing his attention there.
He's slow to lean in, as if to prolong the torture. But the second his lips capture mine between his, I wish he'd given me an extra moment to breathe.
The kiss is short, but primal and entirely too explosive for only a second. It’s nothing like those pecks I've seen on TV, and I can't imagine they felt the pure fire that's raging between us.
He watches me for half a second before he crushes his mouth back onto mine, evoking a volcanic eruption that’s melting me into a pile of ash. Yet, he holds on to all the pieces of me and gathers them against his chest until there is no me and him. Only an us.
His hand slides along my jawline and dives into my damp curls, directing the angle of my head so he can lick along the seam of my lips. And like a greedy little puppet, I eagerly open for him. He tastes the smallest of gasps on his tongue as it glides against mine, which seems only to invigorate him.
It transforms from a passionate kiss to being devoured whole, and the only thing I can do is submit. I'm a slave to him, and it's the first time I'm happy to be one.
In a moment of madness, I drop my towel altogether, the thump over my feet causing him to pull away, though his lips rest against mine.
“Where do you want me to kiss next?” he rasps.
I've never heard a voice so deep, bordering on demonic. It would make sense why I feel so possessed.
“Lower,” I rasp.
He places an open-mouthed kiss on my jaw, ending it there.
“Let me hear your words,” he purrs. “Do you want me to kiss these pretty tits? Or I can kiss your sweet pussy. I'll fucking feast on her if you want.”
“Yes,” I moan. “All of it.”
He dips at the knees just enough to grab the backs of my thighs and lift me up, my feet hooking behind his back. But it's useless because, within moments, he's laying me on the bed and descending my body, wasting no time wrapping his lips around my nipple.
A shot of electricity races down my spine, and my back bows off the bed, a cry slipping past my lips.
“Cage!”
His answering growl is primal, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth. My mouth falls open on a silent scream, my body unable to properly function beneath the assault.
Every one of my nerves is hyper-fixated on the way his tongue swirls over me. Then, he switches to the other, cupping both of my breasts in his large palms as if he's feeding them into his mouth.
My fingers dive into his short strands, scraping my nails against his scalp.
His teeth gnash at my abused nipple one more time before he pulls away, taking his wet kisses lower.
My lungs tighten, refusing to pull in a single breath as he reaches my belly button. There lies a scar that's fitted perfectly around it. Aside from the one on my face, I've always hated that one most because of how ugly and centered on my body it is.