She didn’t hesitate. She slid off the bed and onto the plush rug, kneeling for me, eyes burning into mine. My hand slid through her hair as I guided her mouth back to my cock, watching her take me with praise and hunger all at once.
I groaned. God, she was perfect like this. I pulled her up roughly, my mouth claiming hers again as I walked her backward until the back of her knees hit the mattress. She turned around and climbed on, crawling across the bed like a goddamn vision, and I followed. The only sound was our breathing, too loud, too desperate.
“Face down,” I growled. “Now.” She did without question, arching her back just enough to tempt me further. Her ass was perfect, begging for my hands. I slid my palm down her spine before gripping her hip in one hand and guiding myself with the other.
“Do you want this?” I rasped, because even now,even with her bare and open and shaking for me, I needed to hear her say it. “I want this, and I wantyou,” she whispered.
I didn’t wait another second. I thrust into her with one hard, deep stroke, and she gasped, high and sharp. I did it again, rougher this time, until her hands fisted in the sheets and her moans filled the room. My fingers dug into her hips as I set the rhythm, unforgiving, hungry.
“You feel so fucking good,” I groaned. “So tight around me. Like you were made for me.” She moaned in response, incoherent, pushing back to meet me each time. Her body shook beneath my hands, and the sounds she made, desperate, unfiltered, only made me harder. I leaned forward, my chest against her back, my mouth by her ear.
“Say it again,” I whispered. “Say you want me.”
“I want you,” she breathed, trembling. “Don’t stop, Theo.” And I didn’t.
Her voice cracked as she said my name again, broken and pleading, and that was all it took for something primal to snap in me. I grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the small of her back with one hand, and drove into her harder. She cried out, half-moan, half-sob, and it made me want to own every sound she gave me. I didn’t just want her body. I wanted her wrecked by my name, ruined by the way I moved inside her.
“Look at you,” I growled into her ear. “Bent over, begging, and falling apart for me.” She arched deeperinto the bed, her hair a wild mess over the sheets, her body trembling beneath me. I held her still and kept thrusting, each movement a claim on her body.
She tightened around me, and I felt her body reaching that edge again. I fucking loved it. “You close?” I asked, my voice rough with need.
“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes…don’t stop…” I didn’t. I shifted, hit her deeper, harder, and she cried out again, louder this time. Her knees slipped slightly on the sheets, but I gripped her tighter, held her in place. She was losing it. So I slowed, just enough to make her whimper.
She writhed beneath me, greedy for friction, desperate for more. I leaned forward, kept her wrists pinned, and licked her shoulder, then bit her, just enough not to leave a mark.
“You want to come?” I asked, voice low and commanding. “Yes. Please.”
“Then you do it when I say,” I growled. “Not before. She groaned in frustration, and God, I loved the sound of her surrender. I released her wrists and flipped her over in one quick motion. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, her lips parted, eyes heavy with lust and fire. I reached down, grabbed her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the bed, never breaking eye contact.
Then I thrust into her again, deep, rough, raw. “Wrap your legs around me,” I said. She obeyed instantly, and I slammed into her over and over, every thrust matched with her moan, her nails clawingdown my back as if she needed something to anchor her. “Come for me, Samantha.”
Her orgasm hit her hard, loud, shattering, and I wasn’t far behind. I followed her over the edge with a low, guttural growl, my hands tightening on her hips as I spilled inside her, breathing her name against her neck. For a second, all I could hear was our heartbeats, wild, overlapping, synced. Then I pressed a kiss to her collarbone. Still inside her. Still wanting more.
Her body was still trembling beneath mine, legs falling open, breath catching as I finally pulled back. I exhaled hard, brushing a kiss against her shoulder before rolling to the side. My chest still heaved, sweat cooling fast on my skin. She lay there for a second, stunned and quiet. Then?—
“Holy shit.”
I smirked, dragging a hand through my hair. “That’s the review I was hoping for.”
Her laugh was soft, wrecked around the edges. “No, not that. We’re supposed to be at a gala.” That sobered me. I glanced over at the vintage clock on the fireplace mantel.
“Oh shit.” We’d been gone too long. Too noticeable. Too obvious. Sam sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. Her dress was somewhere on the floor like a silk crime scene. She reached for her glass of Dom, took a sip, then looked at me with that wrecked, post-storm glow that made it impossible to think straight.
“I can’t go back down there looking like I’ve been completely railed,” she said, blinking wide-eyed. “Youwere,” I muttered, grabbing a towel and handing it to her. “Multiple times in fact.” She laughed again, flushed and exasperated and somehow even more beautiful.
I threw on my shirt, backward the first time, then fixed it with shaking hands while she slipped back into that black silk dress, skin still glowing, hair wild in the best way. I found her clutch and passed it over. She dug out a lipstick and touched herself up in the mirror while I buttoned my cuffs. Every movement she made felt like a temptation I didn’t have time to indulge in.
We needed to move.
She pulled her hair back into a clean twist, glanced in the mirror, and exhaled. “How do I look?”
“Ruined. And perfect.”
“Mr. Jones!” I grinned. “You’ll pass. Come on.” She slipped her heels on and grabbed the keycard from the table. As we opened the door, the muted sounds of the gala filtered back in, glasses clinking, music swelling, conversations echoing against marble. Sam looked at me, lips parted. “If Harper says anything…”
“She won’t,” she snorted.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
