Wicked Is the Reaper

Chapter Sixteen

As the wind howled and the snow fell, we cleaned up and then spent the next day awkwardly trying to give each other space and make polite conversation. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed and touched me or the way he’d spoken to me last night.

As if sensing my thoughts, I turned to find him watching me with a penetrating look, like he was trying to see right into the center of my soul.

He tended the fire constantly, but the windows bled and the cold continued to seep in. We survived the day, and I wondered how we’d manage much longer like this. There was nothing else to do but cook, and eat, and stare at each other. I really tried not to think too much about what else we could be doing to pass the time.

It had only been a day, and I was unraveling like threadbare cloth.

After we endured another meal, I got the sense neither of us was hungry. It was just something to while away the time. As night fell, the temperature dropped, and Wicked kept stoking the fire, even braving the cold and snow to chop more wood. He refused to let me help, and I put up a feeble protest, content to let it lie when he shot me down. Soon the hearth was blazing, taking the edge off the chill.

“Is it always this cold in here?” I asked, blowing on my hands.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said and then stalked toward the bed. He dragged the covers off and laid them in front of the fire. Next, he retrieved the pillows. “Sleep here tonight, so you’re warmer.”

With a nod, I slid off my chair and under the covers. I sighed in relief at the blast of heat that washed over me. “Where will you sleep?” I asked. We both looked at the stripped bed, and Wicked rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ll be fine over there,” he said, uncertainty in his voice.

I rolled my eyes and lifted the covers. “Get in, you big oaf.”

He headed toward me and stopped. “You sure?”

“We’ve slept next to each other for weeks. Why are you worried now?”

He seemed to weigh a list of options in his mind, and I wondered what he was thinking. Finally, he shook off whatever reservations were holding him back and approached.

After he settled down next to me, I had to stifle a groan. He was so warm, heat poured off him like a waterfall. I shifted, snuggling in next to him. I couldn’t help it.

A heartbeat passed before his arm lifted and it wrapped around my waist, tucking me into the curve of his big body. Now I had the fire at my front and the wall of his heat at my back.

“Mmm, this is perfect,” I said, the breath of his low chuckle brushing my neck.

“If I’d known you were this easy to please, I would have done this sooner.”

I gave his arm a playful smack, and he laughed. The sound was like the chiming of crystal, and I wished he’d do it again and again. I looked up, our gazes meeting.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“Nothing,” came his entirely too quick reply.

I narrowed my eyes. “Liar. Tell me.”

He paused and then blew out a breath. “The same thing I’ve been thinking about for the past three days,” he said, his voice dropping. “How wet you were. How you tasted on my fingers. How you moaned when you came.”

My embarrassed laugh sputtered out. “Well, don’t sugar-coat it, Wicked.” He chuckled, the sound threatening to wrench me open.

“What are you thinking about, Princess?”

“Clearly about that now. Thanks,” I said, and he laughed again, his hand sliding over my torso, his fingers spreading wide as my stomach swooped. “Confession?”

“Hmm?”

“I was already thinking about how good it felt when you touched me, too. About your...” I cleared my throat. “How it would feel to have more of you inside me.”

The silence in the room grew so thick you could have sliced it and served it with butter. Wicked shifted closer, his body pressing against my back where I felt the evidence of how this conversation was affecting him. The heat between my thighs flared, and I heard his sharp intake of breath.

“If I take off your clothes, will you be too cold?” he asked, his baritone low and rough, his warm fingers sliding under my tunic, making gentle circles on my skin.

“Something tells me I’m about to get very hot,” I said, my voice hoarse as he flattened his hand and ground his hips into my ass.

He kissed the curve of my throat and then dragged the lobe of my ear between his teeth. I flipped around to face him, barely settling before his mouth slanted over mine in a furious kiss that left us both panting. He pulled up the hem of my tunic, yanking it over my head and tossing it away.

My skin erupted into gooseflesh, partly from the cold, but mostly from him, while his hands slid up my arms and over my shoulders before he cupped my breasts and leaned in for another deep kiss that plunged straight into my wet, achy center.

“Rowan,” he whispered, his mouth against mine. “I want to fuck that wicked little mouth and this pretty pussy and make you come with my name on your lips until I’ve completely ruined you.”

“Oh gods,” was the only response I could muster as he yanked off his own tunic and then tugged down on my waistband, pulling off my leggings and adding them to the pile of our gathering clothing.

“But what I really want is to taste you, Princess. I want to make you come apart with my tongue deep inside you.” He rose over me and kissed me again as I slid my hands into his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him against me.

“Rowan?” he asked. “Tell me what you need. What you want.”

“All of that,” I said, breathless. “All that stuff you said. That sounds very good.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling like shadowed emeralds. The sound was low and seductive, and his breath grazed over my now fevered skin. I definitely wasn’t cold anymore.

Wicked placed more kisses down the length of my body, his mouth closing over a nipple before he sucked hard, causing me to gasp. He continued his journey, his tongue and his lips marking a path of our sins until his breath skated between my thighs. His hands pushed my legs apart, spreading me wide as he made a rumbling sound of approval.

He sat back on his knees and I lifted on my elbows and watched as he pulled off his own breeches, leaving him bare and beautiful and glorious. I studied the hard length of his cock, wondering how that was supposed to fit. He gave me a feral smile as he stroked himself with his hand while I watched in fascination.

He then crawled past me and lay on his back with his head against the sofa.

Taking my wrists, he pulled me over.

“Ride my face, Princess.” He guided me over top of him until my knees were planted on either side of his head. He let out a sigh of contentment as he took in a deep inhale, his eyes closing.

Sliding his rough hands up the inside of my legs, I trembled as his thumbs swept through the wet folds of my body. He lifted his head, kissing the skin where his hands had just been, and then his tongue flicked between my legs and I let out a soft cry.

“Wicked,” I breathed as he did it again, circling the tip of his tongue on my clit. My hands snaked into his hair as I sank down, bringing me closer, seeking the pleasure of more friction. More pressure. The stubble on his chin was rough and delicious as it rubbed me with the precision of a lightning bolt.

His hands gripped my waist as he guided me over his mouth, my hips moving back and forth like I was taming a stallion. He moaned, the coarse sound rattling through my bones and scorching my blood.

I moved faster and faster, grinding down against him as I gripped the edge of the sofa to keep my balance.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Ride me, little Princess. Come apart for me.” I did as he asked, using him for my pleasure as his tongue thrust inside me and my clit stroked against his face, the sensation winding me up tighter and tighter. I cried out, tossing my head back, the tendrils of my hair tickling my back. This was the most intense pleasure I’d ever experienced.

Wicked made a sound that was part groan and part growl as I tore apart with a scream. He held on to my hips, dragging me across his mouth as I surged through my climax. One of my hands gripped in his hair, the other hung onto the sofa so tight my knuckles were white.

When the waves of the aftershock subsided, Wicked flipped me off him and sat with his back to the sofa. Pulling me over him, my hips straddled his. I grabbed his shoulders as I slid myself along the length of his hard heat that pressed between my thighs. He moaned, his eyes closing for a moment, his large hands clamping on my hips.

Gripping him with my hand, I lifted myself higher, fit the head to my entrance, and slowly eased myself down. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Gods, you’re so tight. You feel amazing.” Still guiding my hips with his hands, he slid me higher and then thrust his hips, his cock spearing into me.

I gasped at the sensation. The ache and the stretch and gods, this was the most exquisite bliss. He did it again, the veins on his neck standing out as he seemed to be trying to clamp down on himself. But I didn’t want him to restrain anything or hold back. I wanted everything.

“Let go,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his.

I dragged my nails down his chest and up his arms, skimming over his biceps and the swell of his shoulders. Gripping his face in my hands, I pressed my thumbs into his bottom lip as I rocked my hips, our cries growing frantic as he thrust into me over and over.

He bit the tip of my thumb, sucking it into his mouth while he ground me down hard against him. His head dipped where he took my nipple in his mouth, biting down as one hand squeezed the flesh of my ass and the other reached between my legs, where he stroked my clit.

Warm tension spread out over my body as we moved together, our moans and cries backdropped only by the crackle of the hearth. A moment later, I shattered again, crying out, my release washing over me in wave after wave. Wicked grunted low in his chest and then flipped me over, pushing me to the floor, one hand coming under my knee as he drove into me deeper. I hung on to his shoulders, his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue and his cock both thrusting into me with unleashed abandon.

He moved faster and faster, his movements becoming erratic, until he let out a moan that seemed to shake the ground as a shudder rippled over his body. “Rowan,” he gasped. “Oh fuck, Princess.” He stopped, his eyes shuttered for a moment as if he needed a second to gather himself. Then he lay on top of me, his warm skin silky with a sheen of sweat. I ran my hands over his back, savoring the hard planes of muscle as he slowed his movements.

When he’d recovered, he let out a low groan and kissed me deeply, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. He rolled off me, landing on the blankets and tucking me in next to him, one hand trailing up my side, and the other tracing the lines of my face as he stared at me.

“That was incredible,” he said. “I haven’t felt like that in so long.”