Witched to Death by Deanna Chase

that,” I said as I pulled his T-shirt off, desperate to feel his bare skin. And oh man, he was just as glorious as I remembered. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscles for days, and a dusting of chest hair. He was perfect in every way. “You should come with a warning label.”
    “What?” He peeled the sweatshirt off me and went to work on the T-shirt I was wearing.
    “One taste of you and I bet the ladies are ruined for good. It’s like having to go back to ground beef after having filet mignon.”
    He dipped his head and laved at the hollow of my throat.
    A shiver went through me and I tightened my legs around him, moaning when I felt his hard shaft press up against my center.
    “There’s nothing wrong with ground beef,” he murmured, trailing his lips along my collar bone.
    “No, I suppose not. But it’s not nearly as mouthwatering.”
    I felt his silent laughter rumble through him, and I decided right then and there that if this was my last day on earth, it was all worth it. Every last bit of it.
    I’d never been so turned on in my life. Never felt so worshiped, and we’d barely begun. I slipped my hands to the front of his jeans, working the button.
    “In a hurry, Ida May?” he whispered in my ear, just before he caught my lobe between his teeth.
    “Hell yes. Get these jeans off. I want to feel every inch of you pressed up against me.”
    “In good time,” he said, but he still spun and carried me to the bed. After laying me down, he stood over me, his hands on his hips, studying me for a moment. “I think you might be the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
    “Those eyes better not be the only things you lay on me,” I said and pushed the sweats down, making myself completely naked before him.
    His eyes flashed that gold color again, and then he gripped my knees, slowly spreading my legs as he kneeled before me. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
    “Thank the goddess,” I said, already closing my eyes in anticipation.
    His rough, calloused hands moved slowly up along my thighs, teasing my tender flesh. I quivered in anticipation.
    “Do you want my tongue on you, Ida May?” he asked, his voice gruff.
    “Hell yes.” I widened my legs, giving him easier access.
    Chuckling, he dipped his head and kissed his way up my thigh. His light, feathery kisses nearly drove me mad.
    “Diesel.” I moaned. “Please.”
    “Tell me what you want, Ida May,” he said and blew on my sex.
    “You,” I said, nearly writhing with anticipation.
    His fingers inched higher, barely brushing my opening.
    “Diesel,” I all but begged.
    “Tell me,” he coaxed.
    “Your tongue. I want it on me, inside me, tasting me. Now, Diesel. Make me come.”
    He didn’t hesitate. With my words, came my reward. His mouth was on me and I was lost to the pleasure, moaning with each stroke of his glorious tongue, feeling each new height as he worked that bundle of nerves. And then when he paused for just a second and scraped his teeth over my most sensitive spot, I shattered. A tidal wave of pleasure crashed through me, spurred on by his relentless attention. Ripples and aftershocks carried me away.
    And when I finally came back down to earth, with Diesel kissing his way up my body, I gave him a whisper of a smile.
    “You liked that.” It wasn’t a question.
    “I think that’s fairly obvious,” I said, running my hand through his thick hair.
    He paused at my breast, taking the nipple between his teeth, gently tugging, while his hand moved to the other one, pinching with his thumb and forefinger until I let out a low moan.
    “Your body is fucking amazing,” he said, his lips now inches from mine.
    “Yours isn’t so bad either,” I said, running my hands down his back, only stopping when I hit the band of his jeans. “These need to go.”
    He rolled, taking me with him so I was sprawled over his chest. He glanced up at me. “I couldn’t agree more.”
    I laughed, and immediately went to work on his