He pulled his mouth away from mine, panting heavily. "Fuck, you have gorgeous tits. I used to fantasize about them back in high school."
I laughed softly. “You fantasized about me?”
He nodded sheepishly as his fingers played with my hardened nipple. “Sometimes. You looked too fucking good to resist.”
His mouth devoured my breast once more, and I leaned my head back, moaning, not caring if the whole world heard me.
He took a moment to yank his shirt off, then turned, tumbling us both onto the motel bed, the springs squealing under the force of it.
For a heartbeat, his body pinned me—raw power crashing down—then he froze, panic flitting across his eyes.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, forehead pressed to my collarbone. “If you want me to, I swear I’ll stop.”
I brushed my palm over his cheek. “Caiden…this is what I want.”
That was all he needed. His lips crashed onto mine, fierce and devouring. His arms slid up to pin my wrists above my head.
And there, in the charged quiet after his storm, we collided fully, two halves of an explosion neither of us wanted to contain.
I remembered every cruel moment he’d reduced me to trembling nothing, every flash of fear he’d carved into my bones, and in the furnace of his touch, I felt that tally of terror incinerate, replaced by an ember of want so fierce it lit us both ablaze.
He leaned in, lips scorching along my jawline, trailing fire-kissed kisses down the hollow of my throat until his teeth grazed my skin in a delicious pinch that set every nerve alight.
I arched against him with no shame, bare and open, thighs parting like petals in bloom as he settled his weight over me.
His skin on mine was an elemental collision: his chest hot and grainy beneath my palms, muscles coiling and flexing as he hovered, masterful even in his craving.
He kissed each breast slowly at first, then with a brutal, bruising insistence. His tongue swirling around my nipple until I writhed in reckless abandon.
His hands were everywhere, mapping my body like he meant to own each curve and hollow. He gripped my thighs, spreading them wider, possessive, rough, as if daring me to try and close them again.
His fingers slid up, teasing the tender flesh between my legs, trailing heat that made my muscles jump and shiver.
His breath rough in my ear, his voice a growl, “You want me to touch you, Amelia?” He didn’t wait for the answer; his hand was already there, palm cupping, thumb dragging up through the sensitive heat. I bit my lip, but the moan escaped anyway.
He bit my shoulder, not gently, sucking a mark deep into my skin while his fingers worked. Circling, rubbing, relentless.
My hips rocked up, searching for more friction, more pressure, but he held me pinned to the bed, refusing to let me take what I wanted.
It was the hunger of years finally uncaged, and the monster he became was the one I’d always been terrified—and desperate—to touch.
His mouth traveled, devouring me inch by inch, greed painted in the bite of his teeth and the perfect, searing pass of his tongue across my throat, my collarbone, the soft undercurve of my breast while his fingers inched lower.
A dark, brutal sound vibrated in his chest. “So fucking wet for me, even now,” he said, voice pure gravel. “Did you ever think about this, about me taking you apart?”
I couldn’t answer. The only thing in my brain was the sensation of his fingers parting me, the way he circled my clit, deliberate and slow at first, then harder.
He pushed inside, thick fingers stretching me open, filling me, and the sound that tore out of me was helpless.
He kept at it, working me, until I started grinding against his palm, a writhing, pathetic thing. Sparks exploded behind my eyelids.
I was dissolving, melting, undone.
His fingers wrecked me, tearing me open, working deeper until I was unsure where I ended, and he began. I couldn’t stop moaning. Didn’t try. Filthy, frantic noises, each one making his grip on my hips even harder, bruising, greedy.
He wanted me like prey, and I let him, spreading for him, trembling, begging without words.
My breath shattered against his mouth. He released my wrists, only to grip my chin, forcing my eyes to his. His pupils were blown, wild with need, hunger, and hatred churning together.
