4 - We Are Gathered by Jackie Ivie Read Free Book Online

of material over her mysteries, while a spin showed nothing at the back save a string about her waist. Tristan was off the bed, on his feet and shoving his pants to the floor before she’d finished her spin. And then he had to face a wide-eyed, shocked expression as she looked at him. It was almost enough to make him cover up with his hands. Tristan had never felt so exposed and displayed. Her dismay made it worse. He’d been forever among men, and knew he wasn’t different, just large and engorged and angered-looking as it jutted out from his groin toward her.
    “What is it? What?”
    “Oh…Tristan.”
    It was a purr of voice, and it was accompanied by a slide of her frame toward him. She wasn’t just licking her lower lip, she’d pulled the entire thing into her mouth in order to suck on it, and even his skin felt too tight to contain the urge to wrap his arms about her, find and bury himself into the core of her, and he was going to go insane before she reached him.
    She stopped right in front of him, and spent another moment looking down before traveling his abdomen, chest, and then to his gaze. Everything on him jumped as if she’d made actual contact.
    “This is for you, Tristan. Every moment. Every nuance. Exactly as you’ve always wanted, and perhaps dreamt.”
    He closed his eyes and stifled the groan. When he opened them she was still standing in front of him, barely out of touch of his rod, sending vibrations with every huff of breath that tormented his skin and then cursed it. Every muscle in his abdomen responded, tightening and jumping and aching, as if begging a touch. And when he got her palm against him, balancing her, the fire sensation rocketed all the way through him. He was still reining the sensation back when she went to her tip-toes, touched her lips to his, and nipped at him.
    Everything went to the brightest, most vivid, intense hue and it seemed to grow with every moment. Tristan had her in his arms and beneath him within the enclave of the bed without even knowing how they got there. She moved her ministrations to his neck, pricking him and sucking at his life fluid, and sending legions of bliss racing through his veins, while he did the same to her. Exchanging. Giving. Receiving.
    Her hands slid along his belly, searching and then wrapping about him, and with the first stroke, he broke contact with her throat to emit the groan. He was going to perish if he didn’t get sheathed and soon. The need transferred to her, changing the caresses she made to an immediacy of movement. The little triangle of material she wore wasn’t an issue, his lack of expertise even less, and then she guided him, positioning, and then launching upward to join them. With the return shove Tristan lost all sense of time and balance and reality. Liquid warmth surrounded him, wrapping, coiling about his shaft, flexing and rippling and making every lunge an experience of bliss. And then she stopped, yanked her head back and sent a cry into the canopy above them, while the coils about him tightened and flexed, and worked, drawing him into realms of paradise no one could have described.
    He knew there was more. Every plunge and retraction promised it. Tristan pushed himself up, lifting to generate more sensation, push with more strength, heave with more power. She didn’t have fangs, but it didn’t matter. She latched onto his throat, lapping and sucking, matching every motion until the bed rocked with it. And then she pulled from him again to cry, leaving him no doubt as to her satiation and fulfillment, while her sheath continued to enthrall him, becoming a corkscrew of rings that enwrapped and caressed and initiated.
    And still he pumped, heaving and arching and pulling full fists of bedding into his palms as he felt it. The grip of sensation at his lower back moved, shooting lower, taking his groin and squeezing until he thought he might go mad, and there was no way to contain it.
    Tristan yanked back from her