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All I know is that her body was made for pleasing in a thousand different ways.
She lets out a cute-as-fuck whimper when I grab her by the shoulders and lift her off the floor.
I wasn’t planning on this.
I was going to take it slow.
But going slow with her is impossible.
I’m tired of imagining what she looks like without those clothes protecting her from my predator’s gaze.
I carry her to the couch and drop her, captivated by the way she bounces up and down when she lands. She stares up at me with her eyes wide, nervous but still willing … willing to go wherever I take her, to do whatever I need her to do.
“Strip,” I snarl. “I need to see those tits. I need to see your curvy body. Strip. Now.”
“Oh, God,” she whimpers. “You really want to see me naked?”
I tilt my head at her, wondering if this is some kind of a joke.
What man in his right man wouldn’t want to see a goddess like this naked?
Never mind that if any other man did try to see her naked, I’d be scattering his ashes into the sea by sundown.
“Strip,” I growl, and then take a step back, forcing my hands behind my back to try and gain some sort of control over the situation.
She unbuttons her shirt, looking at me the whole time, biting her lip just like she did in the car.
The way she bites that lip has me fucked up in a hundred different ways. My cock pulses like it has a heart of its own, my seed roaring at me to cut the foreplay and impregnate her right now.
But I want to savor this.
I need to savor her.
She gets to the bottom button, revealing her lacy black bra and her large round breasts.
Fuck, they’re so big, so full.
“And the bra,” I snap.
“O-Okay,” she says.
She reaches around with trembling hands. I stare at the way her flesh bulges against the material of the bra, gloriously full, beautifully voluptuous, and round.
I almost lose control when the bra flutters to the floor, her big breasts bouncing free. A vein runs through one, the sort of vein that I want to trace with my finger, watch as she shivers at each little movement.
Maybe I would do that if she wasn’t so damn sexy. She makes restraint impossible.
But before I know it, she’s gasping and moaning as I leap upon her.
I take one breast greedily in my hand, squeezing softly, feeling her nipple prick firmly against my palm. I bring my mouth to the other, sucking on her pert, needy nipple as she squirms and sighs against me.
She puts her hand on my shoulder, digging her fingernails in through the fabric of my shirt, moaning more urgently each moment.
“Fuck,” I growl, leaning back. “I need to taste you. I tried being strong.”
She giggles, shooting me a sassy look, pushing it past her nervousness to let the more confident aspect of her shine. It’s incredible, the way she oscillates between bravery and anxiety, the way she refuses to sink into her shyness.
“When did you try?” she teases.
I can’t help but smirk, even as a savage song blares within me.
Take her. Own her. Forever.
“Fair enough,” I growl.
I lean forward and claim her lips with mine, wanting her to taste how hot and tangy her nipples are. She gasps again – there’s a pause when she doesn’t know what to do – and then my sex-hungry princess sinks into the kiss, moaning, and opening and closing her mouth in time with mine.
I push my body against hers, feeling her breasts flatten against the hard rock face of my torso, her nipples so desperate for more sucking and rubbing.
She tastes perfect, sweet, and just-Juliana. I’ve never stopped long enough to imagine how my chosen mate would taste before, but the moment I feel her tongue against mine, I know it’s right. I know it deep in my bones.
She moans through the kiss when I glide my hands up her legs, grabbing her waistband and then ripping it powerfully.
There’s a crrk sound, fabric tearing apart, and then I keep pulling, kissing her all the while, tearing giant rips down her pants until they’re nothing but ruined bunches of fabric in my hands.
I toss them aside, never breaking contact of our mouths, lost in the way she moans through each fresh infusion of lust.
I grab her panties and rip them away from her.
She gasps as the fabric kisses into her flesh, but then it’s gone, a crumpled ruin on the floor with the remains of her pants.
“Fuck,” I snarl, finally breaking off the kiss so I can lean back and look at my work.
She’s completely naked now, except for her socks and her shoes, which somehow adds to the heightened sense of pleasure.
Here she is, my woman, naked in the exact way I want her to be naked, naked because she’s mine
