Page 80 of Hollow
My toes curl, and heat floods between my thighs, and suddenly, my clothes feel suffocating, the high neck of my blouse too tight around my throat, my skirt too long and bulky to feel any hardness from his body as he presses it against mine until I’m flat against the wall of the stall.
He pulls his head back, breathing hard, and rests his forehead against mine, the tip of his nose brushing against the tip of mine. “Here’s the thing about feeling safe, sweet witch,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s a baseline. A starting point you can always go back to. I will always take you back to where you feel safest. You can trust me on that. Will you trust me?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I nod anyway because I do trust him. After the way he protected me when the horseman came after us, I know I trust him with my life.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
A wicked smile curves his lips, and I’m struck by how easily this man vacillates between being a good and proper teacher and a man who’s a slave to lust. “That’s what I needed to hear. Just remember that you trust me, and I trust you to let me know when you’re uncomfortable with something.”
I blink at him as his hands wrap around me to the back of my neck, fingers curling over the edge of my collar. He fingers the buttons there gently. “What would I be uncomfortable with?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly, but I’m scared and excited, my heart rate increasing.
“Letting me use your body,” he says, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Letting me fuck you until you’re rendered senseless. Letting me be in control of how you come and when you come and trusting that I’ll never let you leave unsatisfied.”
With a sudden display of power, he suddenly rips the collar of my blouse at the back, the sound of buttons popping and fabric tearing as the cloth falls away down my arms, leaving me exposed in my corset and chemise.
“Crane!” I admonish him. “What are you doing?”
“Being impatient,” he says, and with my neck exposed, his mouth goes to my skin, and he starts sucking. I gasp, my eyes fluttering back, my body immediately flooded with sensation. “I can’t stand how many layers you women wear, but I’ll rip them all off you if I have to.”
“Is this where I tell you I’m uncomfortable with this?” I ask.
He glances up at me, his eyes glimmering and devious. “Oh no, my sweet witch. This is nothing compared to what I’m about to do to you.”
But instead of ripping my chemise or tearing through the laces of my corset, he just yanks them both down until my breasts bounce free. My nipples immediately harden in the cold air, and his lips are on them in seconds, warm and wet, giving long swirls of his tongue.
“Oh my goodness,” I cry out, my head going back. I gasp for breath and squeeze my thighs together as electricity flows from my breasts and through the rest of my body, tightening a hot coil in the center of me.
He takes my moans as encouragement and switches between my nipples, biting and sucking, making me squirm and writhe under his touch. His hands trail down my body, squeezing and kneading over my corset until they reach the waistband of my skirt, where he raises it up, bunching it up around my waist, and I’m left in just my stockings, garters, and drawers.
I blush, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but the heat between my legs is impossible to ignore. Crane gets down on the ground and kneels in front of me, his eyes dark with desire as his fingers trace the lace of my undergarments, teasing the slit in the crotch of my drawers where I’m bare underneath.
His gaze flicks up to mine before he leans in and disappears under my skirt. He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. I gasp, my hands scrambling to find something to hold on to as he trails kisses up my thigh, getting closer and closer to the heat that’s pooling between my legs.
Then he pulls his head out from under my skirt, his hand kneading into the tender flesh of my thighs.
“Do you want this?” he asks me, black hair a mess, staring up through his dark lashes.
“Please,” I beg, my voice barely audible. I can feel energy swirling through me, potent and hot, wanting to do magic, waiting impatiently to be released.
“Has anyone ever tasted you like this before?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust.
“No,” I pant. “Never.”
“Good,” he growls and lowers his head between my thighs. His mouth finds my center, and he begins to lap at me with long, slow strokes of his tongue. I moan and arch my back against the wall, the pleasure so intense that I feel like I might burst at any moment.
I can’t believe he’s doing this. That he’s tasting me, savoring me like I’m his last meal. I feel so completely vulnerable and exposed, and yet the fire that’s building in my veins with each pass of his tongue is addicting.
He continues to feast on me, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing flicks of his tongue. My body responds to him like a bucking horse, sending sparks through me with each touch of his lips.
I lose track of time, lost in a world of sensation. His skilled mouth brings me to the brink of orgasm over and over again, but each time, he pulls back, denying me release.
“Please,” I beg again.
I feel him laugh against my wetness, his breath so hot that I fear I might die on my feet from wanting something so badly.
“I love to hear you beg,” he murmurs against me, his voice muffled. “But only I get to decide when. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I gasp.