My pulse quickens. “Yes.”
He runs the flat of his tongue over a cut that stretches down from my shoulder, over my bicep, to the pulse point at the crook of my arm. As his tongue runs along the entire crease, I bite down on my bottom lip and force my breathing to slow.
It’s only an arm.
Nothing erotic about that.
So, why is my body getting so excited?
When the Boogie Man heals all the tiny cuts that run down to my wrist, he draws back and studies the network of lesions across my chest. The worst of them completely bisects one nipple.
He places a clawed hand on my shoulder and leans so close that his warm breath fans over that breast. As the nipple tightens, I hiss.
“Sore?” he asks.
“It’s pretty deep,” I whisper, the words urgent. “Please, heal it.”
The Boogie Man licks a path from my collarbone, over the swell of my breast, and sucks my nipple into his hot mouth.
A bolt of arousal shoots straight to my core. I would arch my back, but that would only aggravate the worst of my cuts. He swirls his tongue around my nipple, and heat gathers between my legs. I curl my fists, only to aggravate a lesion.
I cry out, and the Boogie Man releases my nipple with a soft pop.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
“My hand,” I say, my voice stuttering. “It’s covered in tiny cuts.”
“I will suck each of your fingers until your skin is whole.”
He starts with my thumb and slips it between his full lips as though it’s his favorite delicacy. The cut along its first knuckle flares to life before knitting together.
I exhale the longest sigh of relief as the pain turns to pleasure. Is this what it feels like when men get blow jobs?
The Boogie Man lashes his tongue from side to side against the pad of my thumb, making my clit throb for attention. My jaw clenches. I need to calm the fuck down. He’s healing me, not trying to get me ready for sex.
My body doesn’t get the message, and the first sign of moisture gathers in my folds.
Shit.
What if he notices?
He releases my tongue and sucks each finger with the same amount of attention. By the time he’s finished, the muscles of my core clench and spasm, needing to be filled.
His tongue heals the cuts on the back of my hand, and my mind drifts to my collection of crystal dildos. Crystal dildos I acquired from the apothecary. And the rose quartz dildo I used to pleasure myself in the bath under the Boogie Man’s watchful eyes.
No.
I can’t think about that. Aggie was probably just making up stories about men trapped in crystals. She’s acted peculiar ever since she split up with her boyfriend and probably can’t stand the thought of a man coming to my rescue.
The Boogie Man groans. “You have such beautiful fingers. So slender and delicate.”
My cheeks heat and I squirm on the mattress. I’m nearly naked and he chooses my fingers to compliment?
“Do I have your permission to heal the cuts on your legs?” he asks.
“Yes,” I rasp.
His tongue travels down a shallow cut on the front of my thigh that curves around to the inner part of my knees. My skin is warm, but his mouth is hotter.