Page 17 of After-Hours Heir

Begging.

He took her clothes off. Easy. The darkness did nothing to diminish his skill.

He stripped her dress off and threw it down to the floor. He unhooked her bra with one hand. He gripped her panties and tore them away from her.

And then he picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her at the center.

She was breathing hard, and she could hear that he was divesting himself of the rest of his own clothing. Thank God.Thank God.

When he joined her, it was all the heat of his skin and the strength of his body.

He was kissing her. Down her body, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. She had no idea what he would do next or where he would go.

He kissed his way down her inner thigh until his mouth met the most intimate part of her.

Then he licked her. Going deeper with his tongue, painting her with unimaginable pleasure as he ate her like she was the finest delicacy.

She was trembling, shaking. There was no way she could come again so soon after that incendiary orgasm. But she did. Crying out, bucking her hips up off the bed. He growled and gripped her hips tightly, holding her against his mouth as he pushed her further, higher than she had ever gone before. Shewas on the verge of telling him to stop. But she didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.

She came again on a harsh cry, and he made his way up her body, pressing his mouth to hers.

Then the blunt, heavy head of him pressed against the entrance to her body, and he entered her in one smooth stroke. It didn’t hurt as bad as she expected, but there was still some pain. Still, the darkness shielded her from revealing herself with her expression.

He took it as a cry of pleasure, and he began to move.

She clung to him, arched her hips in time with each and every thrust.

And when he began to lose control, she reveled in it.

He pressed his forehead against hers and growled against her mouth. “Beautiful. Perfect.”

Beautiful. Perfect.

He couldn’t see her, and yet he said that all the same.

He had never seen her face, and yet he called herbeautiful.

All he could do was feel her, and he called herperfect.

It was perfect. He was perfect. And so was this. It was everything. Everything she had always been afraid to dream of.

He moved his hands down beneath her ass and lifted her up off the bed as he thrust hard inside of her, over and over again.

“I can’t,” she gasped.

“You will. Come for me.”

She shook and trembled, cried out as the orgasm swept over her. And she was gratified when he met his own release, a shout of triumph on his lips as he poured himself inside of her.

And when it was over, she could only lie there, the darkness pressing in around her. She turned toward him, grabbing hold of his arm and holding onto him.

She just had sex with the man of her dreams.

They were together, in bed. And yet they weren’t together. She felt like she had lost him. He said nothing. She was hungry for the sight of him, but also afraid. Something felt irrevocably changed.

She could not quite say what it was. He didn’t hold her.

“You should go,” he said.