didn’t have the will to fight herself, let alone the will to fight him.
Within seconds, he pulled back and lifted her arms, pulling the gown over her head.
Cami closed her eyes.
She didn’t want to see the damage herself; she had already seen it. She had already seen the damage to her skin, the proof that another man had touched her. No matter the fact that it was forced, or rather especially because it was forced, her attacker had left the proof of that force on her flesh.
“Oh God.” Her eyes flew open at the feel of the violently intense pleasure that lashed through her system at the incredibly soft stroke of Rafe’s tongue over the abused flesh.
His expression was mesmerizing. Drowsy male lust, brooding sensuality, and absorbed hunger.
His cock lay against her thigh, heated and thick, rubbing against her flesh as his hips moved imperceptibly. The feel of the hard flesh against her, his tongue rubbing over her tender nipple as his hand stroked her other thigh, had her moving against him, her thighs parting further.
She needed him inside her.
“It’s been so long,” she whispered as her hands moved to grip his shoulders, her hands sliding over his skin, loving the warm, rougher texture of his skin against her softer hands.
“You’re a stubborn woman, Cami,” he crooned as his lips stroked against the vivid bruises. “You’re my woman.”
A soft cry left her lips as a sensation akin to a punch of exquisite pleasure lanced her womb and had her arching closer to him.
It couldn’t have been the possessive ring in his voice or the proclamation that she was his woman.
“Rafe, please don’t—” Don’t make promises he couldn’t keep. Don’t lie to her. To make her hope for something, dream for things that couldn’t be hers.
“Have you given another man what you’ve given me?” He breathed over the straining tip of her nipple before licking it again.
His tongue covered the brutally sensitive tip with a wash of such incredible pinching pleasure that living fingers of it shot straight to her clit, clenching her pussy and her womb as she gasped in response.
“You don’t give me a chance to think,” she whispered as her nails bit against the skin of his shoulders as she fought to hold on to him. To hold on to something. She felt as though she was perched on a free fall into a whirlpool of ecstasy so vivid it was nearly terrifying.
This was what he did to her. He made her want to believe. He made her want to dream, to hope, and to hold on to the illusion that he would be there tomorrow, next week, next year, and next lifetime.
“You’ve had weeks to think,” he told her, his voice roughening as his hands stroked down her thighs and he began kissing his way down her body.
Pleasure attacked her nerve endings, pulling her deeper into the morass of erotic sensations building around her.
It was a roller coaster of pleasure. A thrill ride of extremes as each touch threw her ever deeper into the brilliant, heated rush of pleasure that she had only ever found in his arms.
As his lips and tongue painted a path of heated strokes and erotic caresses from her breasts to her hips, there was no pain, no remembered fear. There was nothing but the ever-increasing pleasure she could never get enough of.
The years in between his touch could be measured in the nights she had spent dreaming of his touch, dreaming of this.
Rafer in her bed, touching her, his lips feathering over the bare, silken flesh between her thighs, his tongue licking at the spill of juices that glazed her flesh.
“Have I ever told you that I’ve dreamed of the taste of your pussy?” There was no shame in him, no holding back.
Cami’s hips arched with a cry as his tongue delved between the swollen lips of her pussy.
Her leg lifted, knee bending, as his palm eased along the curve of her rear. She could feel the heated, aching flesh of her vagina, the clench of her muscles. She felt so empty, so empty and so in need of his touch.
The need to touch him had her hands delving into the long strands of his hair. Once they were there, her fingers tangled into it, hips lifting as she directed the path of his lips.
The swollen, desperate bud of her clit throbbed in need as he blew a wisp of his breath over the bundle of nerves.
“Rafe, please,” she gasped, the need for the touch of his lips against her clit flooding her senses with a pleasure she reached for with every part of her.
His lips surrounded it, but only for a second. Long enough to deliver a deep, quick kiss, the stroke of his lips too brief, too intense, to bear without crying out in ragged pleasure.
“Rafe,” the whimper rose unbidden from her lips. “I need more.”
“Tell me what you need, baby,” he urged, his voice rough, echoing with hunger. “Tell me what you want, Cami. Anything you want.”
Anything she wanted?
Her head thrashed against the pillows, a desperate effort to hold back the needs, to hold back the erotic, exotic fantasies she’d had for so many years.
The need for a touch she’d never had.
A need for a hunger she had resisted every step of the way.
His finger touched the lower curves of the swollen folds between her thighs, gathering her juices and easing lower.
Thrusting upward, she sobbed in need as his touch glanced over the clenched entrance of her pussy, then lifted again. Once again it stroked down, past the flexing entrance, then back.
On the next pass, it continued its journey until the heavy, slick juices were being eased along the forbidden entrance that flexed and echoed with aching pleasure at his touch. The press of his fingertip against her rear entrance had her moaning pleadingly as it slowly, gently, began to pierce the tender, nerve-laden area. Slowly, easily, the tightened entrance began to part, to open to steady impalement of his finger pressing inside.
His tongue circled her straining clit as his thumb caressed and stroked the entrance to her pussy. The sensations delivered to the three most sensitive areas of her body were doing more than throwing her toward ecstasy. They were tossing her about, flinging her closer, jerking her back, playing a devilish, agonizing game with her that had her arching, twisting, and sobbing out her need.
Fingers of pulsing pleasure were racing through her. Every cell of her body had sensitized to the point that she swore she could feel even the stroke of the air against her flesh. She was overwhelmed with sensation and begging for more, desperate for more.
As his lips joined his stroking tongue, surrounding her swollen clit as his thumb pressed into her pussy and his fingertip eased deeper into her anal entrance, Cami fought desperately for a release that teased at the edges of pleasure.
She could feel Rafe beginning to lose himself in the taste of her, in the act of pleasuring her. She had never understood it. She had never heard her friends discuss their own lovers placing such emphasis on their pleasure. She had never known Rafe to touch her any other way.
His earthy male groan echoed around her as her hips writhed beneath him. His fingers fucked her with even, shallow thrusts as his thumb sank into her pussy, possessing it and rasping against the tender inner tissue with rapid strokes of intense sensation.
With each caress, each stroke of his tongue, his lips, his fingers, she flew higher, hurtling faster toward the center of an ecstasy she hadn’t expected.
It shouldn’t be this intense.
The bruising of her flesh, the memory of the night before, should have somehow affected her ability to reach so high, to strain so desperately toward the sensations building inside her. But she should have expected, should have known, Rafe could possess every part of her even to the point that nothing existed but pleasure. To the point that pain merged with the building ecstasy, erasing itself as it became part of the sensations Rafe stroked through her system.
Her fingers clenched in his hair as it continued to build. The sensations wrapped around her, flew through her, pulsed in her veins, and beat through her senses until they exploded through her with a surge of such
