Of Blood & Consequence (Book 2 of The Blood Bond Series)

2. Soon

Michael was hot on Delia’s heels before he turned her around quickly, both of them tumbling onto the bed, their bodies crashing to the mattress. Delia giggled. Michael wasn’t a man for much laughter, so the resulting smile was akin to complete delight—at least for him.

And he was delighted. Happy to have found his mate, even if it had come at such a strange and desperate time. Delia’s best friend had been kidnapped, taken away from her mate, the bond nearly severed with whatever spells or incantations the evil shithead who’d taken her had put in place to keep his boss from feeling it.

Michael couldn’t bear the thought of the same thing happening to him. Once marked and mated, it would feel like a premature, slow death to any who felt the pull and then suddenly had it taken away.

Many nights he held Delia desperately close as she slept, afraid of a future he couldn’t predict, and just as frightened of a past he’d left behind years ago. One that threatened to crawl back to him with every feverishly written letter from his mother.

Eager to push all that aside, he stripped her top off and took her lips, moist and soft and delicious. Her bra was dragged off her body, and his hands drove through her hair, the deep chestnut sheen glimmering between his fingers as her hips lifted against him as she called out a desperate plea.

“Michael.”

He hummed deep in his throat as he took a n****e between his lips and sucked hard at the aching point. It contracted like it was trying to pull away from the pleasure, and her back arched against him as her ass languidly pressed back into the bed.

“Fiore,” he murmured against her skin as his hands slid under her panties and slicked against her drenched s*x. “God, you’re wet.”

“And what does fiore mean?” She wondered how many little nicknames he was going to give her. He seemed to have a new one at the ready every week. Mostly in Italian, and none of their meanings anything but sweet and lovely.

“It means flower.” He hummed against her skin and dragged a deep breath in on a groan. “The way you smell, Cara, is like the plumeria blooms from my old home.”

He didn’t often mention his life back in Sicily, and she didn’t usually try to dig deeper. That he was there at all with her as his mate, someone she felt irrevocably bound to forever, was enough in her mind.

“I like it.” Her hips ground against his, and she gave a soft sigh as his lips spanned over her flesh, from one n****e to the other.

“Good.” He bit at the stony-tipped tit harshly. “I like it too. It suits you.”

As he rubbed between her legs, she pulled his shirt slowly up over his torso, stopping at times when the pleasure became too much, and then pressing on even through her heavy pants.

His head slipped through the top, and she tossed the material aside. Finally free of it, his body moved down hers, kissing a path over soft skin that grew ever more fragrant the lower on he delved.

When she was laying naked and nearly writhing beneath him, he unbuckled his belt, whipping it through the loops, his pants pushed down and kicked off to the bottom of the bed.

His c**k, hard and ready and weeping from the tip, jutted out like the most tempting appetizer known to man, and drew her up onto her knees before kissing him hard while curling her hand around the girth. She languidly stroked up and down over him.

He groaned into her mouth, and her hands squeezed when her palms brushed the sensitive head of his d**k. She didn’t let the kiss linger for too long, but pushed him down onto the bed playfully, her hand still firmly gripping his shaft.

She licked up the side of him, tracing a vein with her tongue, his hips flexing as they sought more heat from her mouth, and when she drew him in, he hissed with pleasure.

“Oh, f**k me.”

She smiled with her lips kissing his head, murmuring a ‘soon’ she knew he could hear. The resulting sounds were tortured and greedy.

She moved her head up and down, tasting every inch of him she could while he continued to make noises that were so desperate, so turned-on, that she had to fight hard not to simply straddle him and give them what they both needed.

As his fingers pushed through her curtain of hair, he grunted, his hips lifting so she’d take more of him. Her throat closed around him before relaxing, the tiny mutinous whimper of her desire causing him to yank at her hair and drive his c**k further into her mouth.

“If you’re going to suck on me like that, you could at least ride my face while you’re at it.” Another tug at her hair got her moving, and she sat down slowly on his face as his tongue licked deep between her folds with another moan that vibrated her into near-orgasm. The man had a sinfully clever tongue.

His hands gripped her ass as she started to rock against him, and the flicking of his tongue against every sensitive bit of flesh drew keening whimpers and muted cries as she forced more of his manhood down her throat. His c**k twitched in her mouth, a burst of salty flavor leaking into her mouth before she drew back up and swirled her tongue around the flared ridge of his crown.

That musky, manly smell of his invaded every one of her senses, only heightening the pleasure both being given and received, and she rocked even harder until he sucked her clit into his greedy mouth.

“f**k!” She popped off his manhood, her hands fisting the sheets of the bed as he pushed her higher until she was aching to come.

With a heavy crack of his palm to her ass, she gave a wail, her s*x tightening until she exploded in waves of pleasure that were so sharp and raw that she lost all of her breath and collapsed against him.

Michael rolled them both over, turning so he was hovering over her and kissing her lips hard, a brutal swipe of his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth. She moaned into the kiss, and her hands, her trembling, weak hands, desperately dove into his hair, silky and so damn soft it almost hurt her to touch him.

She was unaccustomed to feeling so adrift but so alive, so she let the heat of his mouth smooth away the jagged edges of her thoughts until only the coming gratification was left.

Her hips swiveled and clashed against his, her movements both tight and venturing, beckoning to him as his c**k slid past moist, engorged flesh.

Michael’s hips shifted, and he grabbed himself by the base of his shaft, slipping into her as easily as grease gliding across a scalding hot frying pan.

Her hips moved with him, taking in every delicious inch as her fingers scratched and bit as his skin, the slow rock of him driving in and out of her, making her clasp and flutter around him like a cocoon of damp heat.

Their skin flushed as blood rose to the surface, their actions painting a sheen of sweat on their bodies as he wound her higher, the swing of his hips into her making her head spin as she panted against his stubbly chin.

She bit at the skin, raking a tongue over it until he crashed hard into her, almost forcing her up the bed as he powered into her, over and over again.

“Come for me, sposina,” he croaked through the vibration of the words. “I can feel it. Right here.” He touched his chest, right where his unbeating heart lay under sinewy muscle and impenetrable bone.

She gasped as her eyes fluttered shut, letting him lead as he always did in their bed, allowing him to crank her higher and higher until she splintered apart on a cry.

“f**k, Michael!”

He groaned and possessed her lips again, drowning in the sounds of her pleasure as she shook apart around him, tight little pulses of her s*x that nearly undid him as he ground against her in tight little circles that pulled her deeper into her waning orgasm before her breathing faltered and then normalized.

Michael was a man who liked to be in control. It was in his nature, especially with his upbringing, so he knelt between her legs before ducking his head down to lick her arousal onto his tongue. He dragged the hungry muscle from the puckered hole of her ass to her clit, and again.

Again.

She squirmed when the sensitivity became too much to bear, though she begged with words for more.

“f**k. Please, Michael…”

Her eyes rolled back as her lids slid shut, and he pulled her legs over his shoulders before placing his c**k at the scalding heat of her p***y. It quivered gently with the promise of thrusting into her again, and she let out a choked sob when he drove his hips against hers in one smooth movement before dragging himself back out.

He pushed sounds, the sounds he so loved to hear, from her mouth with each angle of his hips, each hard pump, and got lost in Delia. The smell. The taste. The touch. He was lost until he burrowed deeper than ever inside her, snapping his hips like he was trying to skewer her permanently onto his c**k.

She fisted around him with a cry, and he smoothed a hand down her thigh, his touch softer to the more punishing rhythm he set as he tossed her again into a sudden, stark climax.

When she trembled against the sheets with the last of her bliss, he swatted at her hip, urging her with the gesture to get on her knees for him.

She obliged him eagerly, and the offering of soft tanned flesh that he could stroke, spank and fondle was a tempting combination that he would indulge in soon. As soon as his c**k was throbbing against her swollen folds, he slid inward, the flex of his ass pronounced as he pulled her body back to meet his.

Her chest was pressed against the bed, her hands in tight white-knuckled little fists as her fingernails dug into thick cotton that bunched beneath her fingertips.

“More! Please, God, more!”

She tightened around him, clawing now with desperation as she was pounded into the bed.

Michael lowered himself so he was laying atop her back, his sweat-slicked skin brushing hers with every punishing thrust he gave.

“You want more, amo?” His tongue licked at the curve of her ear before biting into the lobe. “I’ll gladly give it to you.”

His pace hastened as his hips slammed into hers, pulling a squeal from her lips as he pegged her g-spot with each rapid crash of his pelvis against her ass.

He sipped at the sweet blood from his bite, something that pushed their combined pleasure higher, especially when she was so close to breaking apart for him.

Delia’s fist banged at the mattress, a loud shriek ripping from her throat as he felt her spasming around him.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, and came with a slow, satisfied grunt before tumbling onto the bed next to her and drawing her closer to his heaving chest as he stroked her skin in a curving line from her chest to her waist, and then smoothing it over the swell of her hips to her thighs.

He slipped out of her, though he was never truly flaccid. Not with his mate naked, her chest heaving in slowing pants, her skin smooth and sensual, and his for the taking. Michael’s c**k could jerk awake for her like nothing else, and every inch of skin made that more and more of a possibility now.

“Tu sei il mio, cuore, amore,” he murmured into her ear. (You are my heart, my love.)

“What does that mean?” she murmured drowsily.

His hand trailed over to the flat of her belly where he gave her the smallest bit of pressure.

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered, fighting back his smile. There were certain things he wouldn’t disclose to her right away. Not now, anyway. His parents, how much he loved her already. Though they were marked and mated for life, he was reticent about some things, even after months of being mated. It was difficult for him to express himself at times. He was used to being withdrawn, his gaze unyielding but for the spark of something more in his eyes when it mattered. “I promise to tell you soon.”