Read Online Hotter Than Hell by Kim Harrison, Martin H. Greenberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kim Harrison, Martin H. Greenberg
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and he breaks off his kiss to push hard and long in my hand. I squeeze, gentle; a pulsing rhythm. The Minotaur groans and slams his fist in the sand. He pulls out of my grasp.
“You will finish me,” he says, and then it is my turn to dig my hands into the sand as his fingers slide between my thighs, entering me deep. His mouth follows, tongue running swift as he sucks and licks, and a moan tears from my throat as I twist in his arms. He captures me. Hooks my legs over his shoulders.
And then, when I am almost on the brink, his mouth and hands disappear and I feel the heat of his body poise above me. He does not need to ask. I spread my legs wider. The Minotaur pushes inside, and though his size might have predicted discomfort, all I feel is delicious warmth so unexpected, so overwhelming, I am momentarily paralyzed with pleasure. Stiff with it, even as he is stiff, the both of us shaking. He is hard and hot; I feel mounted, pinned, like a puppet on the head of a spear, except this is flesh and blood and dream, and there are no strings attached to my body, no master controlling my actions.
One giant hand presses against my thighs, tugging them apart. The Minotaur slides deeper, but only just. And then his hands move again, but only to push my legs together, tight. Squeezing him inside me. Holding him like a vise, even as he begins to move, to draw out, just as slowly as he entered.
I shudder, a moan escaping from between my clenched teeth. The Minotaur’s own breathing is harsh, though he is gentle as he thrusts, his large hands holding me close in a careful embrace. I wish I could see his eyes, and press my lips against his throat, feeling in my pounding heart a wild ache that reminds me of my first time in the library labyrinth, held safe within the darkness of a new home. I do not want that feeling to end.
“More,” I whisper, and the Minotaur rumbles with pleasure. He sits up, holding my hips tight against him as he rises to his knees. I tip backward, head and arms resting against the sand, bound by flesh still large and hot.
The Minotaur is strong. He holds me flush against him and thrusts hard, driving into me with a strength that is both pain and pleasure. He is in complete control as he moves my body, rutting with a ferocity that makes me cry out, the tips of my toes digging into the sand. I try to move with him, but give up, letting him set the pace as he holds and pulls me with raw hungry strength. It is a punishing rhythm, but so is my desire, and the gathering pleasure inside my body is so devastating I lose myself when it breaks, arching violently, breath rattling in a silent scream as I come in his arms—as he comes in mine—sinking us down at the last moment to move against each other in the sand.
We keep thrusting, savoring the aftershocks, fighting for breath—so tangled that as the Minotaur turns us, I remain pressed against his body, one leg hooked over his waist, fingers digging into his hard shoulder. I do not want to let go. Neither does the Minotaur, if his hands are any indication. He cradles my body, holding me as I have never been held; as though I am wanted, needed, desired. His breath ruffles my hair; his lips trace a path down my flushed cheek.
“I did not dream,” whispers the Minotaur. “I did not dare.”
“You brought me here.” I am still breathless, muscles limp and warm. “You must have thought something would happen.”
The Minotaur touches my face. “Not this. Truly.”
I close my eyes. “Not an optimist, then.”
A short gasp of laughter escapes him. “No more than you, I think.” He runs his fingers through my hair and I sigh at the simple pleasure of it, the warmth and strength of his fingers.
“There were others, long ago,” he says quietly. “Women who came to me as a novelty, a freak to be bedded. But never for more. Not like this.”
“You think this is more?” I press gently. The Minotaur shifts in my arms and places his hand over my heart.
“You will finish me,” he says, and then it is my turn to dig my hands into the sand as his fingers slide between my thighs, entering me deep. His mouth follows, tongue running swift as he sucks and licks, and a moan tears from my throat as I twist in his arms. He captures me. Hooks my legs over his shoulders.
And then, when I am almost on the brink, his mouth and hands disappear and I feel the heat of his body poise above me. He does not need to ask. I spread my legs wider. The Minotaur pushes inside, and though his size might have predicted discomfort, all I feel is delicious warmth so unexpected, so overwhelming, I am momentarily paralyzed with pleasure. Stiff with it, even as he is stiff, the both of us shaking. He is hard and hot; I feel mounted, pinned, like a puppet on the head of a spear, except this is flesh and blood and dream, and there are no strings attached to my body, no master controlling my actions.
One giant hand presses against my thighs, tugging them apart. The Minotaur slides deeper, but only just. And then his hands move again, but only to push my legs together, tight. Squeezing him inside me. Holding him like a vise, even as he begins to move, to draw out, just as slowly as he entered.
I shudder, a moan escaping from between my clenched teeth. The Minotaur’s own breathing is harsh, though he is gentle as he thrusts, his large hands holding me close in a careful embrace. I wish I could see his eyes, and press my lips against his throat, feeling in my pounding heart a wild ache that reminds me of my first time in the library labyrinth, held safe within the darkness of a new home. I do not want that feeling to end.
“More,” I whisper, and the Minotaur rumbles with pleasure. He sits up, holding my hips tight against him as he rises to his knees. I tip backward, head and arms resting against the sand, bound by flesh still large and hot.
The Minotaur is strong. He holds me flush against him and thrusts hard, driving into me with a strength that is both pain and pleasure. He is in complete control as he moves my body, rutting with a ferocity that makes me cry out, the tips of my toes digging into the sand. I try to move with him, but give up, letting him set the pace as he holds and pulls me with raw hungry strength. It is a punishing rhythm, but so is my desire, and the gathering pleasure inside my body is so devastating I lose myself when it breaks, arching violently, breath rattling in a silent scream as I come in his arms—as he comes in mine—sinking us down at the last moment to move against each other in the sand.
We keep thrusting, savoring the aftershocks, fighting for breath—so tangled that as the Minotaur turns us, I remain pressed against his body, one leg hooked over his waist, fingers digging into his hard shoulder. I do not want to let go. Neither does the Minotaur, if his hands are any indication. He cradles my body, holding me as I have never been held; as though I am wanted, needed, desired. His breath ruffles my hair; his lips trace a path down my flushed cheek.
“I did not dream,” whispers the Minotaur. “I did not dare.”
“You brought me here.” I am still breathless, muscles limp and warm. “You must have thought something would happen.”
The Minotaur touches my face. “Not this. Truly.”
I close my eyes. “Not an optimist, then.”
A short gasp of laughter escapes him. “No more than you, I think.” He runs his fingers through my hair and I sigh at the simple pleasure of it, the warmth and strength of his fingers.
“There were others, long ago,” he says quietly. “Women who came to me as a novelty, a freak to be bedded. But never for more. Not like this.”
“You think this is more?” I press gently. The Minotaur shifts in my arms and places his hand over my heart.
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