Page 8 of First Comes Love


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She’s an ice princess, a fucking man eater.

It’s a tale as old as time. But it’s not the kind of story that makes it into fairy tales—fuck no. Alpha male, alpha female. We’re a pairing better suited for the history books.

“Say it,” I command. For the last fucking time.

“Say what, Evan?”

I smirk against her lips. “The something better that came up. Admit it. It’s me.”

Now she’s the one grinding against my hips.

“I’ll say,” she purrs.

My cock throbs as I unlock the door behind her, and we stumble inside.

This is a casual hook-up. I have to remind myself of that much. Casual. One night of passion. Nothing more.

We’re two celestial giants that just got a little too close to each other in our mutual paths through the universe. Got wrapped up in each other’s orbits, and now, we’re going for a little spin in each other’s atmospheres.

Emilia’s atmosphere smells like gardenias and lilies and wet cunt. I kiss her again, savoring the taste of her lips, as I pick her up and throw her onto my leather armchair.

Wet cunt.

There’s another set of lips I want to taste next.

I don’t even have time for the expensive little piece of cloth she’s calling a dress.

I drop to my knees and shove it up around her waist.

The rest, I’ll deal with later. Right now, I have some promises to make good on.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

I breathe her in as I force her thighs apart, kneeling before her like a humble patron of a sex-crazed goddess. But if I’m a believer, I’m a greedy one. I remind her of it as I run my teeth along the smooth expanse of her inner thigh.

“Why might that be, Emilia?”

“Some asshole in the elevator up here went and got me wet.”

She half-smiles, eyes drunk with lust, as she grabs the back of my head and reels me in.

“Why don’t you take care of it?”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

She narrows her eyes at me, lips pulling back in a sultry snarl.

“Evan, I don’t ask twice.”

Fuck. Her voice—that breathy, dominant croon that makes my cock stiff as forged steel and my chest go tight. The fucking entitlement—like she thinks she can play me like a baby grand piano just because her slender little fingers know exactly where to push.

She makes my blood boil and my mouth flood with saliva.

I do want to fucking taste her.

But not on her terms.

On mine.

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