Black dots spot my vision as pleasure detonates through me like a supernova, blotting out every single thought I've ever had in the blink of an eye. My body bows, a silent scream on my lips as the waves relentlessly crash over me.
Malachai doesn't stop. He rides me through the convulsions with a flat, possessive tongue, and then gentles his ministrations as the tremors begin to subside, licking me through the aftershocks with a tenderness I've come to expect from him.
I'm left lying on the cold marble of the kitchen counter, boneless and gasping for breath, my mind scrambling like an old TV on a channel playing static.
Slowly, he pulls back, chin glistening. His eyes are black pools of satisfied hunger. He leaves one final, reverent kiss on the inner curve of my thigh before he rises to his feet, looming over where I'm sprawled like an offering.
