The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (top 5 books to read .TXT) 📗

a shuddering gasp as I touched him, but I wasn’t done yet. So I lowered myself down on him, tasting the skin of his neck. His hand tightened on my hips, but I didn’t stop, my lips meandering down to his collarbone. I heard the breath catch in his throat, and it encouraged me to press lower, moving over his pectoral muscles, then farther down. Stopping momentarily to glance up at him, I was amazed at the look in his eyes as he watched me.

He was gazing at me with a primal hunger, his green eyes vibrant and bright. As my lips skimmed the topmost ripple of his abs, he whispered a curse, his stomach jerking away from me. I hid my smile with another press of my lips.

To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I was driven more by instinct than anything else. I understood the rudimentary concept of sex, or at least what some of the staff at the correctional institute had felt compelled to teach us so we wouldn’t be completely ignorant of that aspect of life. To be honest, when they had explained it to us, I had completely understood why many women chose to have Matrian doctors artificially impregnate them. Gross.

But none of those lessons had ever explained that it could be like this—this rush of need, the promise of pleasure compelling me to press my lips to Viggo’s naked chest. It was running slipshod over my every rational thought, even any threat of pain from moving too much. I suppressed the urge to tease Viggo about harassing a sick girl, knowing that if I did, his reason would take over and he would make us stop—and I was not ready for that to happen.

I moved down to another row of his abdominal muscles, this time taking a chance and flicking my tongue out to lick him here and there. Another growl trickled from Viggo’s lips, and I looked up at him to see the hunger in his eyes had grown, his pupils fixed and dilated. He gazed at me in pure intensity, and as I looked at him, he raised himself up slightly, leaned forward, and slid his hand down my thigh.

I shivered at the sensation. His hand was like fire, burning so hot I could feel it through the thickness of the pants I wore. I gasped as his fingers pressed into my skin, letting me feel the strength in them. He dragged his fingers up my thigh and hip, settling them almost gently against the bare flesh of my side, just under my shirt. Where the press of his hand over my pants had made me shiver, the light touch of his fingers on my bare skin was electrifying—infinitely more pleasurable. His fingers slipped just under the loose band of my pants and…

It was a curious sensation—after all, he had touched my naked skin before, when he’d had to patch me up our first time in The Green, when he’d still been on his mission from King Maxen to retrieve me. This was different, obviously, but it was still strange. I would dwell on it later—reason had deserted us. I had no comparisons, no complaints. All I could think to myself was yes and more. This was finally happening, and I didn’t want it to stop.

I felt myself stretch my back like a cat, trying to press back into Viggo’s hand. He rewarded me by sliding his hand up a fraction of an inch, tracing invisible lines into my skin, lightly pressing the blunt edge of his nails into my flesh. A moan escaped me, and I blushed in surprise, risking a glance up at him without my lips leaving his body.

His face had become feral and possessive. As I watched, his abs tightened under my mouth, and he leaned closer, hooking me under my arms and dragging me up the front of his body with a growl. I shivered from the intensity of it, my body quivering in anticipation as he tilted his chin toward mine in a silent demand for a kiss.

Powerful and sexy—that was how he made me feel. I had never felt that way before. I probably should’ve taken more time to explore it, but I was trapped in the moment. I slowly lowered my mouth to his, knowing this was it… it was going to happen.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped.

Viggo pulled back, letting out a harsh breath and ran a hand through his hair. At my confused and frustrated moan, he said, “We’d better stop.”

“Really?” I asked, just a little bit hurt.

“Really,” he said ruefully, plucking at the sides of his shirt. “We were getting a little… out of control there.”

I reluctantly rolled off him and stretched out on the bed, chuckling. “Would that have been the worst thing?” I asked.

His eyes traced over my body as I stretched, and I bit my lip as I saw the sparkle in them. He met my gaze, and I noticed a dull red accentuating his cheeks.

“It’s probably for the best,” he bit out again, and I suppressed a laugh. I had seen Viggo caught in a myriad of emotions, but flustered had never been one of them. “Besides, I sort of promised myself we would wait until marriage.”

I gaped in mock outrage. “Without consulting me?” I gasped. “That’s a bit presumptuous of you!”

His eyes narrowed in disapproval, but the smile on his lips grew. “Damn straight,” he replied. “You’re going to have to wait. I’m not that kind of guy.”

I laughed, but in truth, his words sent a thrill through me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. Ultimately, it didn’t bother me to wait, but it did make me eager for us to get married. Extremely eager.

“I never knew you were such a romantic,” I teased.

His eyes narrowed, but there was a smile tugging on his lips. “Yes… a ‘romantic.’ ‘Cause that is totally what I am.”

“Hmmm… a traditionalist?”

“Also