Page 64 of Untamed Sinner

His leg slides between mine. “Why?”

I swallow my moan as his knee presses against my pussy. “Because I’m trying very hard not to fall any harder for you.”

His gaze locks on mine. Then he smiles, that slow, devastating smile of his that he only pulls out once every blue moon, and he rolls us over so he’s on top. “Who said I want you to stop?”

And just like that, the last wall I’ve been clinging to crumbles.

I kiss him.

He responds immediately, using my hair to angle my head and deepen the kiss. His other arm secures my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel him hard against my thigh.

"Mandy," he says against my mouth.

There’s only one thing I can reply. "Please."

Without warning he flips us over so I’m on top of him. I straddle him instinctively, my hands on his chest. For a second, I just stare at him—at this controlled, impossible man who somehow looks at me like I’m the dangerous one.

His hands settle on my hips, warm and steady. "Take what you need, Amanda."

“All of it?” I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his cock. He's already hard, and I stroke him once, twice.

His fingers tighten on my hips. “Everything.”

I have no problem with that.

We both watch my hands explore him, squeezing and rubbing his shaft and his balls. I like the way he shifts under my touch, like it’s both not enough and too much, just like he makes me feel. But it’s when my fingers slip behind his balls that he breaks.

"Fuck.” He reaches for a condom from the bedside table and quickly rolls it on.

I position him at my entrance, then slowly—so fucking slowly—sink down onto him.

The stretch is perfect. The fullness makes me gasp. And when I'm fully seated, when he's buried completely inside me, I have to stop and just feel it.

His hands slide up my sides, over my ribs, covering my breasts and pinching my nipples. “Ride me. Get yourself off on my cock.”

“Yes.” The thought makes me go even wetter than I am. I start to move—slow, deliberate rolls of my hips. Not the frantic pace from before. Not the rough intensity. This is something else entirely.

This is me memorizing him—every inch of him inside me, every flex of muscle beneath my hands, every sharp intake of breath when I move just right.

"Amanda." His voice is rough. "Look at me."

I do.

His gray eyes are locked on mine, and there's something in them that makes my chest tight. Something that looks very much like what I'm feeling.

Holding his gaze, I keep moving, keep riding him with slow, measured strokes. His hands guide me—not controlling, but present. Helping me find the rhythm that makes us both gasp.

"Faster," he says.

"No."

His eyebrow quirks. "No?"

"I want to feel every second of this." I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest. The angle changes, and he hits something inside me that makes me moan. "I want to remember exactly how this feels so I can ask you to make me feel it again."

His hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me down until our foreheads touch. "You will."

Two words. Absolute certainty. It shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”