Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter #13 - Micah by Laurell K. Hamilton

Author:Laurell K. Hamilton [Hamilton, Laurell K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

8

He put his hands under my thighs and pulled me off the mound of pillows. Pulled me so that my lower body was flat to the bed, but my upper body was still a little propped up. He put a finger inside of me, just a finger, but the sensation of it writhed me across the bed, made me cry out.

“So wet, but so tight. You’re always so tight after I do you by mouth.”

He was kneeling between my legs, his body so hard, so ripe, so ready. I said the only thing I was thinking.

“Fuck me, Micah, fuck me.”

“You’re tight, Anita, really tight.”

I raised up on my elbows. “But wet. I’m so wet. You’ve made me so wet.”

He licked his lips and swallowed. I could see his pulse jumping in his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If it hurts, I’ll say so.”

He looked down at me, and his face didn’t look lustful now; it looked nervous, uncertain. I knew he wanted to try to shove himself inside me, but he was afraid to. How many women had hurt him? How many had told him he was a freak, a monster, simply because he was so very male? I sat up enough to wrap my hand around the hard length of him. Just holding it in my hand threw my head back, made me cry out. I stared at him, knowing my eyes were wild, squeezing my hand around him until his head went back, his eyes rolled into his head.

I slid my hand up over him, caressing the soft, luscious head. I leaned back on my elbows, looking at him. “Fuck me, Micah. Fuck me before I stop having little spasms inside me. You made me so wet, so tight, my body is still having little mini orgasms. I want you inside me while my body is still spasming.”

He bent over and kissed me, his mouth still wet from me, still tasting like meat and that fresh taste, almost like rain. People can make fish jokes, but not every woman tastes the same.

He drew back from the kiss, kept himself propped up on his arms. But his body was already pushing against me.

Feeling the weight of him against me made me fall back against the bed. He kept his body above mine so I could see every inch of him as he began to try to push his way inside me.

I was wet enough, but he was so wide, so very wide, that he had to ease his way in, and even easing had a level of force to it. He had to force his way in. If I’d released the ardeur, I would have been more open, more ready for him. The ardeur alone without much foreplay could make my body ready, eager, and more open. But we both wanted me tight, both wanted to feel him fight his way inside me.

The tip vanished inside me, with so much left still. Watching him push inch by inch inside me made me cry out, made my body rise up, so that my hands went around my own thighs.

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