Surge: Bolt Saga Volume Five (Bolt Saga #13-15)

by Angel Payne

  Destiny.

  As simple and sublime as that.

  It just took the universe a bit of time to let us in on the secret.

  But now that I know it, I’ll never let it go. Right now, I even wonder if I’ll explode from the sheer glory of it. Of him, so mesmerizing as his fingers start to glow. Of me, producing a string of wild whimpers, as if his assaulting lion act has summoned a matching creature from some primal place inside me too.

  An animal pushing harder at my composure with every passing moment—especially as Reece slides one of his beautiful hands up and over my aching breast. He plucks my throbbing nipple with insolent ease, making me yelp with heightened heat. I cry out as he travels his touch to the other peak, lavishing the same perfect pressure to my other erect nub. He watches my every aroused wriggle with his heavy, lusty stare. There’s no more of his charming rogue act. He’s tossed out subtlety in favor of need, dignity in favor of desire.

  So much pounding, delicious, desire…

  “So as long as we’re on the subject of points…” His growl reminds me of a rising tide conquering massive shore rocks of control, eroding the bastions with every surging pass. He rolls his hand down and then in, pushing up my breast for the full attention of his greedy mouth and lascivious tongue.

  “Fuck, Emma.” He mixes his heated words with my supplicating sigh. “Look at this.” He scrapes my swollen bud with his thumbnail before closing his mouth back over it. His hunger reminds me of a kid gorging on ice cream. “Look at you.”

  I swallow hard. My mind instantly whips up a thousand fun comebacks, all addressing how he’s the arguably better sight right now—hello, girl with the fast-rise baby dough in her stomach—but my superhero lover is determined to burn all my protests at the stake.

  And, while he’s at it, set all my senses afire, as well.

  Turning me into his burning beggar…

  Holy God, how I need him…

  I’m parched…

  Starving…

  Overheated. Underfilled. Empty. So damn empty…

  “Ahhhh!”

  Yet not any of those descriptions finds footing on my lips, eclipsed by that desperate shriek. The scream turns into a whine as soon as Reece dives his lips across mine again. I submit without thought, letting him silence me completely. And yes, I realize that marvelous Mel and Maddie might be waiting around the corner, perking their ears for sounds like this from the new kids’ backyard, but my decision is about more than that. It’s greater than our freaking “appearances.” We’ll put up with the Makras’ busy-body interrogation tomorrow if we have to. But tonight, I have to have the drowning of his merciless passion, the suffocation of his sexual worship, the surrender to his perfect, carnal command.

  And holy shit, what command. It permeates his measured twists around my nipple…and then the force of his other hand, gripping my ass so he can grind my core tighter against his…

  “Ohhh!”

  And maybe Mel and Maddie will get their jollies after all. But I can’t be blamed; not when my husband starts huffing as hard as me and our passion reminds me of mating dragons in a mythical dungeon. If that’s the case, then drag me faster to the castle, please.

  “Oh, please…”

  Vaguely, I comprehend that I’ve rasped that out loud. But I’m damn happy I have as soon as Reece utters back, “You like that, Velvet? When I pinch your tits this hard? And grind against your pussy this deep? When I start turning every inch of your delectable body into my perfect, gorgeous little plaything? To do any damn thing I want with?”

  He keeps his face a few inches above mine as he unleashes the filthy, flawless litany over me…into me. Yes, I feel every searing impact of every carnal syllable and absorb it with greedy urgency. He’s tormenting me, and I welcome it. He’s taunting me, and I love it. I love him. His words. His command. His dark, carved face. His blazing, seizing gaze. Whatever fire his kiss hasn’t already enflamed through my body, his stare takes damn good care of now. From the roots of my hair to the crevices between my toes, I’m a white-gold beam of turned-the-hell-on—especially as he leans in, his breath filled with lust and his touch filled with purpose, and spits, “Answer me, Emmalina. Give me the fucking words.”

  At first, I can only squeak. But his words have me rallying to meet his demand. There are so many beautiful elements beneath his gritted growl. The desperation. The question. The apprehension. The statement he’s really trying to give me…

  Give me the words, Emmalina…

  Because I need them.

  Because he needs me that badly. To open me that fully. To take me that deeply. But not without knowing that I—and Bean—can handle it. All of it. All of him. In every possible way. With every incredible repercussion.

  And if my pussy wasn’t soaked and ready for him before, that recognition just accomplished the job.

  Past a frantic nod, I finally manage, “Uh…huh.”

  His whole form stiffens. “Words,” he orders again through gritted teeth. “Give me coherent words, Bunny. I need to know you’re still with me.” His glistening gaze dips to my mouth. “For now.”

  For now. The words are my undoing but my salvation. He’s really planning on sending me into space—and I’m completely going to let him. That means giving him everything he demands. Showing him every inch of my trust. Opening everything I am to him again.

  No. More than that.

  The woman he sees in me.

  The beauty in his bolt. The partner of his power. The flare to his fuse.

  “I like it,” I whisper, jogging my chin up so his stare has to follow—so I can behold all the sorcery in his gaze again. “No. I love it,” I rephrase as my senses careen like comets in the wake of his commanding stars—and carry the last of my inhibitions along with them. “When you pinch me like this.” I thrust my breast up, molding it tighter against his broad, brutal palm. “And suck me. And bite me.”

  His stare darkens and thickens, turning from star glow into a pulsing meteor shower. “And then tell you I can’t wait to fuck you?”

  Yep. I’m soaked. Beyond even that. I’m dripping for him. Throbbing for him.

  Glowing for him…

  “Oh, yes,” I pant, coiling a golden fist back into his knit tank. At once, my touch makes the fabric sizzle, but I’m beyond caring. I’m beyond craving anything but more of his burning touch, his raw and rugged lust. “Oh, God. Please.”

  He unfurls a low growl, clamping his hold harder. I answer with a taut whimper, grabbing him just as tight. I want to go tighter but know the man could use a few clear moments for stripping his pants off—or at least ordering me to do it for him. At this point, I don’t care how it happens. I just need that pounding ridge beneath his sweats to be the naked, nuclear flesh in my hands. Or between my lips. Or buried inside me. Anything other than this acute edge of hot torment…

  We’re a moment closer as soon as he scoots me backward, directing me to sit in the swing. The hanging apparatus is more like a stiff chair than a dangling hammock, which garners his satisfied grunt as soon as he plummets to his knees, sending the leaves in the grass flying.

  And gushing more arousal through every drenched, quivering inch of my sex.

  And then dipping forward, taking up all the space between my thighs.

  And then pushing me wider, opening my most intimate core for him. Exposing the hot, wet folds of my throbbing, pulsing center—and turning them into fire with the power of his penetrating stare.

  That’s before he even touches me. Scorches me. Makes me cry out all over again as soon as he swoops down a pair of elegant fingers and masterfully caresses my slit.

  “Holy ssshhh…” My voice fades into a croak as my body shakes beneath waves of astounding heat. Okay, forget surreal. This is sheer magic. This man and his mystical strokes, spiraling liquid lust into every cell of my being, make me wonder if he’s already projected me to another stratosphere. I lift my head, actually wondering if it’s so—to be showered in a stare of irid
escent silver worship, beaming at me across the prominent rise of my belly. The moonglow on my skin, along with the lightning fire in my husband’s eyes, moves me to soul-deep tears.

  He gave my life more.

  And then he gave me life.

  And always, always, with the devotion and fullness and brilliance and completion of his love.

  The same love that tangibly flows from him as he raises his free hand, swirling those long, beautiful digits back and forth across my stomach. He lavishes my skin with the same worshipful attention he keeps giving my pussy, and I cry out with need once more—until he interrupts with his heartfelt husk.

  “Holy fuck, Emma. You’re the most exquisite female I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

  I believe him.

  Every word.

  There’s no more doubt in my mind or fear in my heart. We’re going to get through this crazy twist in our journey the same way we’ve navigated all the rest: by fusing our hearts and fully trusting our love.

  And I couldn’t be filled with more excitement.

  Or gratitude.

  It twirls and pushes and fills me until I can’t contain its explosion, meshing my light with his until it manifests along every inch of my quivering nudity. Inside, I’m a mesh of yearning and fire, desire and hunger, thankfulness and awareness. Outside, my skin swirls with intense shades of sunset gold and moonrise blue.

  “Reece.” I lift my arms toward him, sighing as he glides his brilliant blue touch through the glowing amber tides along my body. Everywhere he touches, I ignite even brighter. Every time he pauses, I sigh even higher. There’s even a part of me that wonders if I’ve fallen asleep in the swing and am just dreaming this dazzling sensuality, but when he twists his lower hand, driving his fingers deeper inside my channel, I joyously accept the full reality he’s gifted me with. “Ohhhh, damn! Damn!”

  He responds with a rougher rush of air threaded with guttural emphasis. Hearing his arousal inspires mine to flare, and my skin pulses brighter to prove it. But I dim by a few watts, surrendering to a blissful shiver, as he pulls away far enough to tug at the tie on his sweats. Though his face is set and firm, his movements are fast and frantic—so much so, he singes the fabric in his haste. Not that I’m complaining. If he’s fried off every stitch south of his waist, my win is bigger and better.

  So much bigger.

  So much better.

  I gasp, trembling harder, as I finally take in the flawless sight of him. Heaven. His perfect penis is finally free, the muscled length extending from his rippled abdomen, a beacon of pure masculinity. Just beneath the stretched, burnished skin, his veins are like electrified express lanes for the blue flames of his hot essence.

  Elixirs I need inside me.

  Magic I crave to be a part of.

  “Reece.” I’m truly begging him now and rejoicing in my greed. I’ve never craved him more. Lusted for him harder. “Oh, please!”

  He leans over, fisting one of the swing’s ropes to mash our bodies even closer. Slowly, he withdraws his other hand from the depths of my body. I whimper again, damn near pitching the sound into a keen, as he slowly lifts his fingers to his lips. Dear God, how beautiful he is, sucking on the shimmering evidence of what he’s done to me. Rapture takes over his face as he pumps them in and out of his firm, full lips. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back.

  When he opens his gaze again, there’s nothing but pure lightning in his eyes. I react with a stark gasp. He answers with a slow smirk. “Just a preview,” he husks, “of what my cock is going to do to your sweet, sopping little cunt.”

  “Yes.” I rasp it as he centers himself, circling and adjusting, finding the ideal place to notch the throbbing head of his sex against the quivering slit of mine.

  “This what you want, little Bunny?” He doesn’t wait for my high, confirming gasp to shuttle in again, penetrating the first couple of inches of my quaking cavern. “This right here?”

  “Mmmm!”

  I feel my head fall back again. The surrender is too good not to. I want to fly and almost wonder if I am. The extra buoyancy lent by the swing is an extra shot of freedom and adrenaline, resonating at once in the zapping, racing tissues throughout my sex. Oh, hell. I’m gushing and throbbing and constricting and ready.

  So…damn…ready…

  “Mmmm,” I let out again. “Mmmm-hmmm!”

  “Words,” comes his virulent growl in my ear.

  “Yes!” I obey at once. My clamoring pussy doesn’t give me any other choice. “Yes, I want this.”

  “Words!”

  “Your cock!” I’m snarling too, leveling up to his savagery. It feels so damn good. No, it feels freaking amazing. My air comes in animalistic spurts. My blood races with a hotter crisis. “This bunny needs her beast’s beautiful, swollen cock.”

  As he trails bites from my ear to my nape, he adds a sleek, intense underline of low, lusty thunder. “Inside her wet, welcoming cunt?”

  “Y-Yes,” I pant. “Deep…inside. Please.”

  I brace myself—a little mentally and much more physically. If my confession fully unleashes his savagery, as I hope it will…

  But it doesn’t.

  Instead, he’s tangibly debating with himself. Expelling harsher breaths against my neck as he weathers the significant swell of his erection against my dripping walls. “I don’t want to hurt you, Emma. Or him.”

  I want to scream. I almost do. “You won’t. You won’t… Seriously.” Oh God, please take me, seriously.

  But he doesn’t. I see it in the conflict contorting his lips, still shiny with my cream. I confront it in the doubtful shadows that haunt the backs of his eyes.

  “Reece.” I snatch up his hand and guide it back over my belly. My skin is still a wild mix of amber and blue shades, but as his fingertips touch down, the whole swell turns the color of a massive lapis gemstone. “This is your child, Zeus man. You really think anything short of a Mount Olympus eruption is going to dent him?”

  He releases a new scowl, but his answering mumble is wry. “At the moment, I’m really feeling like that damn volcano myself.”

  “Show me.”

  “Shit.” He grits it as I purposely thrust myself higher—welcoming his cock deeper. “You’re not being fair.”

  “We’re girding ourselves for war, aren’t we? And you know what they say about love and war.”

  “Fuck.” He looks ready to laugh. Or cry. I’ll take either, as long as he’s inside me at the same time.

  “Show me, Reece.”

  “Damn it. Emmali—”

  “Show me.”

  And then, at last, he does.

  And I’m not just gazing at heaven anymore. I’m flying up into it. Carried and caressed and consumed by endless rays of light that stretch along my veins like fuses on magical dynamite leads. I’m sizzling, burning, screaming out for the TNT to blow—and God, how I need to blow. My senses are thrumming and clamoring. I need that ultimate, releasing blast…

  But at the same time, I can’t ignore the fireworks in my mind. The wonderment of the truth Reece has been so patient about letting me see this week, despite the agony I know all the “space” caused him. But I got here because of the space. I came to this crux because of realizing one inescapable axiom. The clarity of what will always and forever be true for us.

  That no matter how hard or strange or bizarre or dangerous this journey may get, we have to face it together.

  We have to fight with each other.

  We have to fight for each other.

  We have to fight to always, always, get back to this.

  Our fusion.

  Our connection.

  Our union.

  Our love.

  The love he’s making me see, in every bright and blinding and glaring and glorious senses of the word, as he thrusts with the intention of knocking my damn hair out of my follicles. And it’s paradise. Nirvana. A light-speed ride to a crazy, carnal cataclysm. Stars start to appear behind my squeezed eyelids. Lightni
ng shoots to the center of my being, and my senses spin faster and faster out of control. My clit tingles. My buttocks tighten. My thighs ache. I’m fully pressurized, ready to blow any second…

  “Reece!” I finally find the strength to gasp out.

  “Yes, goddess,” he growls. “I hear you. And I know. I know.”

  I whine like one of those pathetic piccolo fireworks, hard and horrifically. “You don’t know. You can’t know.”

  “Almost there, baby.”

  “I…I can’t…”

  “You can.” He yanks harder on the swing. At once, my channel is lodged tighter around his cock. I’ve never felt more ready to split into two. Into four. Into a million. “And you will.”

  His command makes me hotter and angrier in the same agonized, galvanized moment. “It’s…it’s coming…”

  He dips his head and shoulders, staring ruthlessly while I pant through gritted teeth. “Good,” he snarls. “Let it.”

  “I—I need to…I’m going to…”

  “Do it, Emmalina. Do it.”

  “And—and you too?”

  His face, consumed by brutal lust, surrenders to a warmer expression. He drops his head, capturing my lips with what ’Dia and I used to call Titanic kisses. Dueling nose tips, Crashing lips. Thick, mingled breaths. The kind of stuff a guy—and for that matter, a girl—would let go of the floating door in the ice for.

  Only after he curls my damn toe hairs from the contact do I remember our floating door is a canvas swing in the middle of a secret garden. But most awesomely, that he hasn’t let go at all. He’s actually secured both hands to the swing, fisting the fabric panel to make it move faster…to fuck me harder. He drives my body onto his in a ruthless, ravenous, skin-smacking rhythm, spreading his thighs farther to open me even wider.

  I gasp like a wild woman. I’m transfixed by the untamed wonder of him. With his lower body pounding me and his upper body drenched in sweat from the exertion, he’s nothing short of breathtaking. So powerful and carnal. So hedonistic and hot. Easily the most beautiful husband who ever walked this planet. Who existed in this cosmos.

  And, by some incredible blessing of fate, he’s mine. Forever. But especially in this perfect, erotic moment, as he bares his teeth like an avenging demigod and growls, “Oh yeah, Velvet. Me too.” Then ensures my heart flips end-over-end once more, dragging my lips into another Titanic kiss.