Ghostwalker 08 - Street Game

pausing only to pay attention to her intriguing belly button before moving on. She sucked in her breath as he nuzzled her legs apart, giving him better access to the feast. Again, he could already taste her in his mouth and down his throat, as if he’d already spent hours devouring her.
    He was afraid he was going insane, the need to take her so strong there was nothing else in his mind, only the terrible lust rising like a tidal wave, the love swamping him until he shook with it. He lowered his mouth, his tongue stabbing deep. Jaimie’s fingernails dug into the floor, her body nearly lifting, heels digging deep for purchase as he began suckling like a starving man. His tongue found her little nub and stroked over and over until she was sobbing with pleasure, her head thrashing and her fists clenching in his hair.
    Mack spread her thighs wider. How many nights had he driven himself insane dreaming of the taste of her? Of her open and giving herself to him again and again?
    There was a part of him that was still hurt and angry that she had left him so devastated, that she had so much power over him— that she could leave him. He would never have left her and yet she managed to stay away for two years and still refused to admit or acknowledge that she belonged to him.

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    He had thought to let her go, to let her find out there was no one else for her, that there never would be, but he never imagined she might find another man. He never imagined her letting anyone touch what belonged exclusively to him.
    “Damn you, Jaimie,” he growled and lifted her hips toward his face and buried himself in her.
    She cried out, a harsh, broken sound, as he swept his tongue over and into her damp, hot core. His tongue pushed deep, seeking her exotic taste. He’d craved this for so long, her wild, exciting flavor. Nothing else could ever satisfy him. Her cries, her shuddering, thrashing body, soft like silk, hot as hell, all for him. He knew exactly where to touch her, an instinct he possessed, had always possessed, but now it was far more acute. Each stroke of his tongue, each stabbing twist, an artist’s flick, the lapping of a cat, all brought sensual writhing and soft, sobbing gasps of mindless pleasure.
    No one could ever replace Jaimie and the unreserved way she gave herself to him.
    She arched her body into him and pleaded for more, nearly as insane with arousal as he was. He sank a finger into her as his tongue teased at her clit. He used the edge of his teeth and she came apart, her muscles squeezing, clamping down hard so that his cock pulsed in anticipation.
    It wasn’t enough for him. “More,” he insisted, his voice harsh with lust. “Give me everything, Jaimie, all of you.”
    His tongue swept deep, licking and sucking, giving her no respite, demanding she go higher, taking her to new heights, driving her up fast and hard. Her body shuddering, she dug her heels into the floor and tried to squirm and thrash out from under him, but he held her firmly, lapping and sucking, devouring the nectar spilling from her body. His. All for him.
    Her energy bled into his, surrounding him, connecting them closer so they seemed so wrapped in each other, he wasn’t certain where she started and he left off. He already had a taste of what life was like without her and he wasn’t willing to ever go there again. He was determined to bind her to him again.
    Her stomach muscles bunched beneath his spread fingers and her voice strangled in her throat as her body locked, clamping down like a vise and then flying apart.
    “Mack,” she sobbed his name, still trying to move out from under him even as her hips pushed into him.
    “That’s right, honey. Mack. There is no one else for you, only me. Always me.”
    He bent his head a third time to her, feasting, and she orgasmed again, a wild, broken cry escaping her throat.
    He knelt up, dragged her to him, lifting her hips as he drove himself deep, drove himself home, her sweet sheath, hot and tight surrounding him. He belonged. She was home to him and always would be. She was everything. His other half. Her body gripped his, clamping down hard, squeezing and massaging. He pulled back and her 139

    soft cry of denial was music to him. He positioned her legs over his arms, giving himself more control and more leverage.
    “Jaimie, look at me.”
    He saw her throat convulse. She turned her head, the mass of damp black curls spilling like skeins of silk around her head. Her skin was