Read Online Fifth Grave Past the Light by Darynda Jones - Free Book Online

clamped me to him so he could punish me, and yet even with all his anger and all his indignation, he did not hurt me. Just the opposite. Stinging tendrils of ecstasy spread throughout my body, hot and hungry and carnivorous.
    But was he solely punishing me or was he enjoying the act as well? I wrapped my arms around his head as he thrust into me, his breathing labored, his body molding into a marble-like hardness, and I did the unthinkable. I whispered into his ear the last thing he would ever want to hear. But I had to know where he was at.
    “Is this what he did to you?”
    He hesitated. Faltered. And my body cried out. It wanted that peak it sought. That prize at the top. But my heart wanted Reyes. With me. Not fighting me. Not punishing me. But riding this incredible wave together.
    There was a wall above my head and he braced a hand against it, our bodies still entwined and locked together. His mouth sought my ear. “You would still feel pity for me?” He nipped at my earlobe. The small amount of pain caused a sharp spike of arousal. “I am a monster, Dutch. A demon. Unworthy of you.”
    I still had my arms wrapped around his head. “I don’t pity you, my beautiful man.” His hold tightened. “I have sympathy for what you’ve been through. And you are not a monster. If you want to punish me for the feelings I have – ” I put one hand on a steely buttock and led him deeper. He hissed in a breath. Pressed harder. “— then I accept.”
    My body won. The heat swirling and bubbling inside me needed release, somewhere to go, and Reyes was just the one to set it free.
    His mouth sought mine, the contact rough, raw, and he drank me in as though my kiss were the only thing keeping him alive. An exquisite pressure trembled throughout me as he buried himself over and over, urging me closer to the edge with each thrust, with each powerful stroke. The air disappeared from the room as his erection milked the tide swelling inside me, summoned the wave of lava, drew it closer and closer until it burst through and crashed against my bones, surging like a boiling sea throughout me.
    He groaned in agony as he met his own climax with a shiver of ecstasy; then he lay on top of me, breathless and spent. When he went to push off me, I wrapped every available limb I had around him and kept him locked to me. He relaxed at last and I felt everything negative, every doubt, every grain of insecurity, every fragment of anxiety drain out of him. I kissed his brow and ran my fingertips over his back and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was happy. A ray of hope broke through. Maybe, just maybe, the lion could be tamed. Then again, did I want to tame such a wildly passionate beast? Such a stunningly feral being? I’d have to think on that one.
     
    We eventually found a bed with a mattress that felt like clouds. I lay there curled in Reyes’s arms. His warmth and steady breathing lulled me into a state of utter relaxation, but I couldn’t quite sleep. Not because I wasn’t at peace. Just the opposite. I’d never felt so at peace. So at ease. So at home. His presence was like a salve that soothed my frenzied thoughts, that calmed the roiling seas within me, and I didn’t want to miss that feeling for a second, so I lay there and drank it in.
    His room didn’t have much yet. It didn’t even have a clock, but it did have a bed, a couple of nightstands with lamps, a chest of drawers, and a chair in one corner with a copy of a Jack Williamson novel in it. Scattered on the floor was everything from George R. R. Martin and Tolkien to Ursula Le Guin and Asimov. He was a reader. And he liked fantasy and science fiction. It was like he was created for me and me alone. His taste, his temperament, his utter perfection. Admittedly lots of other women liked those things as well, but I chose to believe he really was created just for me. The only thing missing from his collection was
Sweet Savage Love.
I’d have to lend him a copy.
    On the