Instead, I’m dragging him closer—fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him like I’ll shatter if he lets go. Like if he stops now, I’ll come to my senses and lose this madness that’s somehow the only thing keeping me grounded.
“This is what I want, Nell,” he growls, voice thick with hunger. “You—dripping all over my mouth.”
Holyshit.
It detonates something inside me—shame, want, euphoria, all colliding at once. My mind goes static. My body answers before I can catch up.
There’s no coming back from this.
No reason left, no brakes. Just the dizzying descent into pleasure I know will unmake me.
“And I want you inside me.Now.”
The words leave my mouth like a challenge, breathless and reckless.
And God help me, he doesn’t flinch.
He’s still in full gear—combat straps, black fabric clinging to every defined line—and I don’t want him out of it. There’s something devastatingly raw about the way he looks right now, like sin wrapped in strategy.
I think I’m in love. No joke.
I pull him to me, hands in his hair, pleading without words—only pressure, only need. He kisses me again, deeper this time, like we’re trying to undo each other from the inside out.
My fingers move instinctively, bold and shaking, tugging down at his fly, and when I have him in my grip, I run my palm up and down his shaft. There’s no finesse in it. No patience. Just want, raw and ravenous.
He groans against my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my spine.
He’s leaking already, pre-cum slick in my hand, which only encourages my hold.
He wants me. He really wants me.
His eyes flick toward the wardrobe—the one sheathed in shadows and secrets—and then back to me, heat simmering just beneath the surface.
“I’m going to take you in there soon,” he murmurs, his hips rolling into my touch in a rhythm that dares me to pull away. “And when I do… you’re going to feel things no one’s ever taught you to crave.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Because they aren’t just a warning.
They’re a vow.
I don’t have time to think ahead to that moment though, right now he’s suffocating me in lust. And there’s nothing more I want right now than him inside me.
He looms over me, all muscle and momentum, his presence swallowing the space between us. Then, without a word, he slips an arm beneath both my thighs and lifts me—effortless, like I weigh nothing.
My breath hitches.
In three strides, he carries me across the room, every step purposeful, until my back meets the cool wall at the far end of his bedroom.
He pushes inside me, already soaked in arousal and need. But my God is hebig. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.
He’s filling me, and more. Stretching me open, moulding me to fit him.
And when his hips start working, pulling back and slamming into me again I’m lost to him.
It’s hot, messy, and completely raw. And I love it.
Desire coils low in my belly—hot, fast, building with each second until it’s near unbearable. I’m on the edge of something I can’t name, or stop, and all I can do is hold on.
