Page 44 of Iron and Ivory

Her eyes go dark. That's the look. The one that tells me she's done pretendin' she's runnin' this show and she wants me to take it.

But I don't. Not yet.

I lean forward and take her left nipple into my mouth. Tongue flat, then circlin', then suckin' hard enough that her back arches and she moans my name.

My other hand stays on her right breast, kneadin', squeezin', thumbin' the nipple while I suck the left one until she's squirmin' in my lap. Every time she grinds down I feel how wet she is, coatin' my cock, and it's takin' everything in me not to grab her hips and slam her down onto it.

"You feel that?" I ask against her skin, bitin' the curve of her breast just hard enough to leave a mark. "Feel how hard you got me?"

"Yes." Her voice is already wrecked. Breathless.

"Tell me what you want."

She rolls her hips again, and this time the angle shifts just enough that the head of my cock catches at her entrance. We both freeze. Her eyes find mine. Neither of us breathes.

"I want you inside me," she whispers.

"How bad?"

She reaches between us and wraps her hand around my cock, linin' me up, the tip of me notched right against her openin'. Hot and slick and so close I can feel her pulse through the contact.

"Bad enough that I'm done waiting," she says.

And then she sinks down.

Fuck.

My hands go to her hips hard enough to bruise and I hold on because otherwise I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind. She takes me slow—inch by inch—and her pussy is so tight and so wet and so fuckin' hot that every nerve ending in my body fires at once. My jaw locks. My eyes slam shut. The sound that comes out of me isn't a word, it's somethin' animal, somethin' that crawled up from the basement of who I am and doesn't care who hears it.

She bottoms out—all of me, every inch buried deep—and we both go still. Her forehead drops against mine. Her breath comes in short, ragged pulls that land warm on my lips. I can feel her stretched around me, feel her body adjustin', accommodatin', that tight little flutter of muscle as she takes the fullness of it.

"Jesus Christ, Savannah." My voice comes out wrecked. Barely mine.

She rolls her hips. Just once. Slow. A test. And the slick drag of her pussy along my cock sends a bolt of white heat straight up my spine. I grip her hips tighter, thumbs pressin' into the hollows above her hipbones, holdin' her there.

"You feel so fuckin' good." I open my eyes and she's right there—blue eyes half-lidded, lips parted, lookin' at me like I'm the only solid thing in the room. "You always feel good, but this is somethin' else."

She grinds again. Deeper this time. Not risin' off me, not bouncin'—just this slow, filthy roll of her hips that keeps me buried to the hilt while she works herself on my cock. The angle shifts with each rotation and I can feel every fuckin' ridge of her, every squeeze, every time her body clenches around me like it's tryin' to keep me there permanent.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Just like that. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." She braces her hands on my shoulders, fingertips diggin' into muscle, and finds her rhythm. Slow, circular, devastatin'. Each grind pulls me deeper somehow—deeper than anatomy should allow—and the wet sounds between us fill the room alongside the candle-flicker and her breathin'.

I slide one hand up from her hip, palm flat against her stomach, feelin' the muscles flex and roll under her skin as she moves. Up further. Between her breasts. I press my hand flat against her sternum, right over her heart, and feel it hammerin' against my palm like it's tryin' to break through to mine.

"Your heart's goin' crazy."

"Your fault." She grinds down hard and I groan, my head fallin' back against the couch. She takes advantage, leanin' forward, draggin' her tongue up the column of my throat, teeth grazin' my Adam's apple. "You do this to me every time."

I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her head back so I can see her face. Her throat stretched long, mouth open, eyes wild. Fuckin' gorgeous.

"Tell me how my cock feels."

She clenches around me on purpose—I know it's on purpose because she smiles when I hiss through my teeth—and rolls her hips again, that lazy, murderous grind that's gonna end me if she keeps it up.

"Full," she says. "You fill me up so full I can feel you in my chest."

"Yeah?"