Mirror of My Soul Joey Hill (best books to read for women txt) 📖

of her left breast, drew it in, tugged. He bit down on it more sharply, making her jump, arch into the pain. She wanted him to bite her everywhere, leave his marks on her, even where the belt dug into her straining wrists. She had a sudden, greedy need for him to overpower her. Take her, obliterating everything else. She wanted him to push her past the point where shadows could reach her, to where there was only mindless pleasure, release, fulfillment. Where love was the only thing she felt.

If that was what this was. At this moment, she knew it was. She might doubt it tomorrow when the shadows returned, but if she could believe it tonight, then maybe with the doubt would also be hope. She hungered to feel that, to feel the butterflies when she wasn’t with him, when she was thinking about him, the way Chloe and Gen did when they had lovers. Secret smiles, weak knees, chuckling at their own

besottedness.

No doubt on that at least. She was most definitely besotted with Tyler Winterman.

And, oh God. That mouth still suckled her nipples, pulling fire into her lower belly, a fire that was spreading even lower so she was writhing sinuously. Rubbing her mound against his hard abdomen, feeling his erection against her inner thigh. She wanted it higher. Wanted it deep inside again.

Abruptly, he released her from the footboard but left her hands bound until he pushed her down on her stomach on the bed. He unstrapped the wrists only to stretch her arms out across the mattress until her hands were clutching the corner seam. He retied and anchored her to the side rail. On the large bed, her feet just went over the 77

Joey W. Hill

edge. When he put a knee on the mattress between her spread legs, there was a quiet, still moment where he simply stood over her, and she felt him looking at her. Her body vibrated, hips moving in alluring, wanton invitation. Then he destroyed her.

Bending over her, he placed his lips on the cigarette scar at the lowest part of her back, his jaw touching her buttocks. He traced the scar with his tongue, kissed and nibbled it, then moved up to the next one, on the opposite side of the valley formed by her spinal cord.

“There’s only me, angel,” he muttered. “Now and forever. Say it. Mine.”

“Mine.”

He paused, his lips on her back, and she strained against her bonds, moving against him. “Mine,” she repeated.

He bit down not so gently, making her moan. “Yes, angel. I’m all yours. Yours.”

He understood. She was grateful because she was beyond the irritating complexity of words. She knew she was already his, had known it deep inside the moment he first came into Tea Leaves and she felt undone by the flash of those amber eyes. But to believe he was something she could keep, not a fleeting fantasy or a dream…

“All yours,” he breathed as he went up her back, his fingers following, tracing her buttocks, his knee moving forward, pressing against her pussy. She arched up, rubbing against him, making tiny mewls of pleasure and need.

“Please, Tyler… I need you inside me.”

He put his arm under her waist, bringing her up higher, her hips into the air, increasing the strain on the restraints on her arms. When his cock slid in deep, his testicles soft against her inner thighs, a secret, intimate caress of contact, he did not even pause in his thorough attention to her scars. Her breath left her on a moan as he worked his way up her spine. The power of the sensation created by his slow swirling of tongue and the brief presence of teeth was matched by each stroke and withdrawal that dragged fire along her slick channel. Her belly clenched for a climax held just out of reach.

“Oh…” She said it softly, trembling on each stroke, each kiss as if her body were frozen, held in the near state of rapture, her skin cognizant of everywhere it was being touched by his. The muscles of his stomach along her buttocks. His hand braced on the bed so close his thumb brushed her side, the outer curve of her breast, increasing the friction of the spread against her nipples, her desire to have him touch her there. His arm around her waist, holding her secure.

Then he withdrew from her despite her cry of protest and turned her over, twisting the belt. She felt him lie down upon her, his chest pressing down on her aching breasts, his cock finding her again and sliding back in, his body pinning her, holding her so their movements became a dance, her undulation against the relentless, steady and slow rhythm of his penetration. He put his hands up on either side of her face, elbows on the bed, forearms pressed against the underside of her arms where she had them stretched above her head.

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Mirror of My Soul

“My angel,” he said in a soft, almost reverent voice. She could imagine his tiger’s eyes glowing in the dim light just above her.

She knew he’d chosen this position to seal the intimacy between them. There would be no excuse or rationalizations as escape hatches later. She wished the scarf was gone so that she could meet his gaze, give him that.

“Say it,” he said. She felt his body gathering, the power ready to be unleashed with his release. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yours.” The words tumbled from her lips. “I’m yours.”

“Sweet angel. Sweet Mistress.” He nuzzled her ear. Her body was on fire, aching as he drew her higher and higher, both sweating, trembling, him holding back, keeping the pace to deny her release until she made it to a height she’d never known she could reach.

“Beg me, angel. I want to hear you.”

She sank her teeth into his shoulder, a growl his answer.