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“His fingers come to my chin, tilting my head so I am looking up into his black eyes, the rage in them as hot as coals. 'You just think I ought to. That I can. That's I'd be good at it. Very well, Jude. Tell me how it's done. Do you think she'd like it if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply in to her eyes?'
My whole body is alert, alive with sick desire, embarrassing in its intensity.
He knows, I know he knows.
'Probably,' I say, my voice coming out a little shakily. 'Whatever it is you usually do.'
'Oh, come now,' he says, his voice full of barely controlled fury. 'If you want me to play the bawd, at least give me the benefit of your advice.'
His beringed fingers trace over my cheek, trace the line of my lip and down my throat. I feel dizzy and overwhelmed. 'Should I took her like this?' he asks, lashes lowered. The shadows limn his face, casting his cheekbones in to stark relief.
'I don't know,' I say, but my voice betrays me. It's all wrong, high and breathless.
He presses his mouth to my ear, kissing me there. His hands skim over my shoulders, making me shiver. 'And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?' I can feel his mouth shape the light words against my skin. 'Do you think it would work?'
I dig my fingernails in to the meat of my palm to keep from moving against him. My whole body is trembling with tension. 'Yes.'
Then his mouth is against mine, and my lips part. I close my eyes against what I'm about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn't kiss me as though he's angry; his kiss is soft, yearning.
Everything slows, goes liquid and hot. I can barely think.
I've wanted this and feared it, and now that it's happening, I don't know how I will ever want anything else.”
― The Wicked King
My whole body is alert, alive with sick desire, embarrassing in its intensity.
He knows, I know he knows.
'Probably,' I say, my voice coming out a little shakily. 'Whatever it is you usually do.'
'Oh, come now,' he says, his voice full of barely controlled fury. 'If you want me to play the bawd, at least give me the benefit of your advice.'
His beringed fingers trace over my cheek, trace the line of my lip and down my throat. I feel dizzy and overwhelmed. 'Should I took her like this?' he asks, lashes lowered. The shadows limn his face, casting his cheekbones in to stark relief.
'I don't know,' I say, but my voice betrays me. It's all wrong, high and breathless.
He presses his mouth to my ear, kissing me there. His hands skim over my shoulders, making me shiver. 'And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?' I can feel his mouth shape the light words against my skin. 'Do you think it would work?'
I dig my fingernails in to the meat of my palm to keep from moving against him. My whole body is trembling with tension. 'Yes.'
Then his mouth is against mine, and my lips part. I close my eyes against what I'm about to do. My fingers reach up to tangle in the black curls of his hair. He doesn't kiss me as though he's angry; his kiss is soft, yearning.
Everything slows, goes liquid and hot. I can barely think.
I've wanted this and feared it, and now that it's happening, I don't know how I will ever want anything else.”
― The Wicked King
“Their bodies coupled. Her breasts pressed against his chest and their hip bones rubbed. He curved his arms about her shoulders. She settled her hands at his waist. The man was solid. His muscles taut. She shifted between his legs, flush with his groin. A groin that stirred. Arousal struck hard.
He bent to kiss her.
Just as she stretched up to him.
Time slowed with the exchange of breath.
The heat of his slightly parted lips blew across her mouth.
His unshaved jaw brushed the softer skin of her chin.
Seconds were magnified as each memorized the impact of the moment. It was startling. Unsettling. And unforgettable.
He moved on her without reservation. The pull between them was inescapable. He slanted his mouth over hers, flicked his tongue along her upper lip, and nipped the bottom one. Then sucked both hard. She nearly came out of her skin.
He penetrated her mouth with his tongue. A seductive pulse of slow, then fast. Raking the roof of her mouth, then thrusting deep. He was skilled in kissing. She lost herself in the mating rhythm.”
― The Café Between Pumpkin and Pie
He bent to kiss her.
Just as she stretched up to him.
Time slowed with the exchange of breath.
The heat of his slightly parted lips blew across her mouth.
His unshaved jaw brushed the softer skin of her chin.
Seconds were magnified as each memorized the impact of the moment. It was startling. Unsettling. And unforgettable.
He moved on her without reservation. The pull between them was inescapable. He slanted his mouth over hers, flicked his tongue along her upper lip, and nipped the bottom one. Then sucked both hard. She nearly came out of her skin.
He penetrated her mouth with his tongue. A seductive pulse of slow, then fast. Raking the roof of her mouth, then thrusting deep. He was skilled in kissing. She lost herself in the mating rhythm.”
― The Café Between Pumpkin and Pie
“I was about to pass him when he grabbed me, so fast that I didn't see anything until he had me pinned against the wall. The cookie dropped from my hand as he grasped my wrists. 'I smelled you,' he breathed, his painted chest rising and falling so close to mine. 'I searched for you, and you weren't there.'
He reeked of magic. When I looked into his eyes, remnants of power flickered there. No kindness, none of the wry humour and gentle reprimands. The Tamlin I knew was gone.
'Let go,' I said as evenly as I could, but his claws punched out, imbedding in the wood above my hands. Still riding the magic, he was half-wild.
'You drove me mad,' he growled, and the sound trembled down my neck, along my breasts until they ached. 'I searched for you, and you weren't there. When I didn't find you,' he said, bring his face closer to mine, until we shared breath, 'it made me pick another.'
I couldn't escape. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to.
'She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,' he snarled, his teeth bright in the moonlight. He brought his lips to my ear. 'I would have been gentle with you, though.' I shuddered as I closed my eyes. Every inch of my body went taut as his words echoed through me. 'I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre.' He said my name like a caress, and his hot breath tickled my ear. My back arched slightly.
He ripped his claws free from the wall, and my knees buckled as he let go. I grasped the wall to keep from sinking to the floor, to keep from grabbing him- to strike or caress, I didn't know. I opened my eyes. He still smiled- smiled like an animal.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
He reeked of magic. When I looked into his eyes, remnants of power flickered there. No kindness, none of the wry humour and gentle reprimands. The Tamlin I knew was gone.
'Let go,' I said as evenly as I could, but his claws punched out, imbedding in the wood above my hands. Still riding the magic, he was half-wild.
'You drove me mad,' he growled, and the sound trembled down my neck, along my breasts until they ached. 'I searched for you, and you weren't there. When I didn't find you,' he said, bring his face closer to mine, until we shared breath, 'it made me pick another.'
I couldn't escape. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to.
'She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,' he snarled, his teeth bright in the moonlight. He brought his lips to my ear. 'I would have been gentle with you, though.' I shuddered as I closed my eyes. Every inch of my body went taut as his words echoed through me. 'I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre.' He said my name like a caress, and his hot breath tickled my ear. My back arched slightly.
He ripped his claws free from the wall, and my knees buckled as he let go. I grasped the wall to keep from sinking to the floor, to keep from grabbing him- to strike or caress, I didn't know. I opened my eyes. He still smiled- smiled like an animal.”
― A Court of Thorns and Roses
“I don't have the damned time for a tumble. And if I did---" He stopped abruptly. All semblance of the elegant viscount Evie had once watched from afar in Lord Westcliff's drawing room had vanished. He was rumpled and bruised and furious. And he wasn't breathing at all well. "If I did--" He broke off again, a flush crossing the crests of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
Evie saw the exact moment when his self-restraint snapped. Alarm jolted through her, and she lurched toward the closed door. Before she had even made a step, she found herself seized and pinned against the wall by his body and hands. The smell of sweat-dampened linen and healthy, aroused male filled her nostrils.
Once he had caught her, Sebastian pressed his parted lips against the thin skin of her temple. His breath snagged. Another moment of stillness. Evie felt the electrifying touch of his tongue at the very tip of her eyebrow. He breathed against the tiny wet spot, a waft of hellfire that sent chills through her entire body. Slowly he brought his mouth to her ear, and traced the intricate inner edges.
His whisper seemed to come from the darkest recesses of her own mind. "If I did, Evie... then by now I would have shredded your clothes with my hands and teeth until you were naked. By now I would have pushed you down to the carpet, and put my hands beneath your breasts and lifted them up to my mouth. I would be kissing them... licking them... until the tips were like hard little berries, and then I would bite them so gently..."
Evie felt herself drift into a slow half swoon as he continued in a ragged murmur. "... I would kiss my way down to your thighs... inch by inch... and when I reached those sweet red curls, I would lick through them, deeper and deeper, until I found the little pearl of your clitoris... and I would rest my tongue on it until I felt it throb. I would circle it, and stroke it... I'd lick until you started to beg. And then I would suck you. But not hard. I wouldn't be that kind. I would do it so lightly, so tenderly, that you would start screaming with the need to come... I would put my tongue inside you... taste you... eat you. I wouldn't stop until your entire body was wet and shaking. And when I had tortured you enough, I would open your legs and come inside you, and take you... take you..."
Sebastian stopped, anchoring her against the wall while they both remained frozen, aroused, panting.
At length, he spoke in a nearly inaudible voice. "You're wet, aren't you?”
― Devil in Winter
Evie saw the exact moment when his self-restraint snapped. Alarm jolted through her, and she lurched toward the closed door. Before she had even made a step, she found herself seized and pinned against the wall by his body and hands. The smell of sweat-dampened linen and healthy, aroused male filled her nostrils.
Once he had caught her, Sebastian pressed his parted lips against the thin skin of her temple. His breath snagged. Another moment of stillness. Evie felt the electrifying touch of his tongue at the very tip of her eyebrow. He breathed against the tiny wet spot, a waft of hellfire that sent chills through her entire body. Slowly he brought his mouth to her ear, and traced the intricate inner edges.
His whisper seemed to come from the darkest recesses of her own mind. "If I did, Evie... then by now I would have shredded your clothes with my hands and teeth until you were naked. By now I would have pushed you down to the carpet, and put my hands beneath your breasts and lifted them up to my mouth. I would be kissing them... licking them... until the tips were like hard little berries, and then I would bite them so gently..."
Evie felt herself drift into a slow half swoon as he continued in a ragged murmur. "... I would kiss my way down to your thighs... inch by inch... and when I reached those sweet red curls, I would lick through them, deeper and deeper, until I found the little pearl of your clitoris... and I would rest my tongue on it until I felt it throb. I would circle it, and stroke it... I'd lick until you started to beg. And then I would suck you. But not hard. I wouldn't be that kind. I would do it so lightly, so tenderly, that you would start screaming with the need to come... I would put my tongue inside you... taste you... eat you. I wouldn't stop until your entire body was wet and shaking. And when I had tortured you enough, I would open your legs and come inside you, and take you... take you..."
Sebastian stopped, anchoring her against the wall while they both remained frozen, aroused, panting.
At length, he spoke in a nearly inaudible voice. "You're wet, aren't you?”
― Devil in Winter
“You know what? You're kind of growing on me too."
"Like mold?" I ask.
"No, you smell too good," he says, turning his back to me. "I know your kitchen is well equipped. I hope you have a rice steamer."
"Duh," I say, mentally kicking myself for my unprofessional response. "Of course I do."
I walk over to the cabinet and step up onto my toes, but I can't reach the damn contraption. Charles steps up behind me, reaches over my head, and grabs it before it tumbles on my head. For two brief seconds, his body presses into mine, his hands steadying my waist. I swear he's breathing me in. And I'm doing the same. He grabs the steamer, sets it on the counter. But he only shifts slightly, and there's clearly something wrong with my legs; they won't budge. I think I may be paralyzed.
"Did my mother make you the perfume you're wearing?" he asks, his breath on my neck.
"Uh, yeah, she did."
"The base notes smell delicious on you," he says, his voice husky and hot.
My spine tingles. A drop of perspiration beads on my forehead. I clamp my lips together before I tell him he smells delicious too and that he's invaded my thoughts ever since I first met him on the street.”
― The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
"Like mold?" I ask.
"No, you smell too good," he says, turning his back to me. "I know your kitchen is well equipped. I hope you have a rice steamer."
"Duh," I say, mentally kicking myself for my unprofessional response. "Of course I do."
I walk over to the cabinet and step up onto my toes, but I can't reach the damn contraption. Charles steps up behind me, reaches over my head, and grabs it before it tumbles on my head. For two brief seconds, his body presses into mine, his hands steadying my waist. I swear he's breathing me in. And I'm doing the same. He grabs the steamer, sets it on the counter. But he only shifts slightly, and there's clearly something wrong with my legs; they won't budge. I think I may be paralyzed.
"Did my mother make you the perfume you're wearing?" he asks, his breath on my neck.
"Uh, yeah, she did."
"The base notes smell delicious on you," he says, his voice husky and hot.
My spine tingles. A drop of perspiration beads on my forehead. I clamp my lips together before I tell him he smells delicious too and that he's invaded my thoughts ever since I first met him on the street.”
― The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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