Page 105 of Monk

To memorize every curve, every line, every inch of skin. The swell of her breasts. The dip of her waist. The flare of her hips. The dark curls between her thighs.

“Get on the bed,” I said, my voice rough with need. “On your back. Legs spread.”

She climbed onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, and lay back against the pillows. But she kept her legs pressed together.

I climbed onto the bed after her, my weight making the mattress dip, and settled between her thighs, forcing them apart with my hips, and braced myself on my forearms above her. The scent of her hit me. Clean skin and arousal and something uniquelyher. It made my mouth water and my cock throb. “You’ve been cold to me all day,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Distant. Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with. Another case. Another client.”

“John—”

“But your body knows the truth, doesn’t it?” I continued, sliding one hand down her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my touch. I moved lower, between her legs, and cupped her pussy.

Heat.

Wetness.

She was already soaking for me.

She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily.

“You’re fucking drenched for me, baby,” I murmured, sliding one finger through her folds, gathering her slickness. “Yourmind might be fighting me, but your body? Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

I brought my finger to my mouth and sucked it clean, tasting her—sweet and tangy and addictive. Her eyes went wide, her lips parting on a soft moan.

“Fuck, you taste good,” I growled. “I could eat this pussy for hours. Make you come on my tongue until you’re begging me to stop.”

I slid my hand back between her legs and pushed one finger inside her.

She moaned, her back arching off the bed, her inner walls clenching around me.

So tight.

So hot.

So fucking perfect.

“That’s it,” I crooned, adding a second finger and curling them just right, finding that spot inside her that made her see stars. “Let me hear you. Let me hear how much you need this.”

I worked her slowly, thoroughly, my thumb circling her clit as my fingers pumped in and out.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her head thrown back, her mouth open as she panted. “John, please.”

The sounds she made, the little gasps, whimpers, and moans, went straight to my cock. I could feel her getting wetter, her body opening for me, her hips rocking against my hand. “Please, what?” I asked, my voice rough as I added a third finger, stretching her.

She cried out as her nails dug into the sheets. “I need...”

“You need my cock,” I finished for her, pulling my fingers out and bringing them to my mouth again, sucking them clean while she watched. “You need me to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. Until the only thing you know, the only thingyou can think about is that you’re mine. That this pussy is mine. That every inch of you belongs to me.”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Yes. Please, John.”

I positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick heat. She was so wet I could feel it coating me, and the sensation made me grit my teeth against the urge to just slam home. “Look at me,” I demanded, and her eyes snapped open, locking onto mine. Bright and desperate, and beautiful.

“Say it,” I said, my voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!” she cried, her voice breaking as I thrust into her in one hard, deep stroke. She screamed, her nails digging into my shoulders as I filled her completely.