Page 141 of Marrying the Savage

I grab his jacket, pulling him closer because apparently anger has decided to travel through my hands. He presses into me, and I feel the hard length of him through his trousers. My body reacts instantly, thighs clenching, heat gathering so fast it’s humiliating.

He feels it.

I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage of it, his tongue sliding against mine while his free hand catches my waist and pulls me against him. I grab his jacket before I can pretend I don’t want to. He’s warm through the fabric, solid and alive, and the moment his body presses into mine, all my anger turns molten.

He walks me backward until my spine meets the wall. The impact steals a breath from me. His mouth takes the next one.

I kiss him back too hard, too eagerly, biting at his lower lip because I need somewhere to put all the things I can’t say. He groans once, low in his throat, and the sound goes straight through me.

His hand slides into my hair. He grips it at the roots and tilts my head back, kissing down my throat, over the place he marked days ago. My whole body shivers.

“There,” he murmurs against my skin.

“What?”

“You do that every time.”

“I don’t.”

He scrapes his teeth lightly over the sensitive place, and I gasp. His mouth curves against my throat. “Liar.”

Before I can answer, he catches the front of my dress and pulls. Buttons scatter across the floor.

I inhale sharply. “Damir.”

“I will buy you another.”

“You keep saying that like dresses grow on trees.”

“In this house, they do.”

The words almost hurt. But then his hand slides inside the open front of the dress, and the thought vanishes under heat. He cups my breast roughly, thumb dragging over my nipple through the thin lace of my bra. My knees weaken. I hate how quickly he can do this to me, how easily my body forgets dignity as soon as his hands are on me.

“You like being angry at me,” he says, mouth near mine.

“No.”

His thumb circles my nipple again, harder this time. My breath breaks.

“No?” he asks.

“I like being right.”

“You like when I make you forget what you were saying.”

I open my mouth to deny it. He pushes the bra cup down and takes my nipple into his mouth, and the denial becomes a moan.

My head hits the wall, and my fingers dive into his hair. He sucks me hard, tongue circling the tight peak before his teeth graze lightly. Pleasure shoots straight down between my legs, sharp and hot, and I arch into his mouth without meaning to.

He releases my nipple with a wet sound, then takes the other breast out too, tugging the fabric down until both are bare.

I should feel exposed.

I do. I also feel feverish.

He looks at me for one second, eyes dark and hungry, and my breath stops.

Then he lowers his mouth again. He devours my tits like he has been starving for them. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, sucking, biting gently, soothing with his tongue. My breasts bounce against his face when he lifts me suddenly, his hands gripping my ass and hauling me up against the wall.