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I grind myself against his mouth and grasp his hair, trying desperately to find more, more, more.
He gives me what I want, licking and sucking for what feels like forever but still isn’t,could never be, long enough. When he lifts his mouth, I want to force it back down. I want to beg himto keep going and never stop. I can’t find the words, though because I’m a lust-filled mess of need. Instead, I hook my legs over his shoulders and beg him that way.
He reaches up to pull my legs from around his neck and presses them wide to the bed, keeping a firm hold when he has them where he wants them. In the deepest, most gravelly voice I’ve ever heard, he says, “Do you remember that night you begged me to do filthy things to you? To make it so I would have trouble looking at you the next time I saw you because all I could remember were those indecent things we’d done?”
“Do you seriously think I could ever forget that night?”
“Tell me you’ve replayed it over and over in your mind like I have.”
“I have. God, you’ve no idea how often I’ve done that. Even when I was with other men, all I thought about was you and that night.”
His eyes flash with something dark and his penetrating gaze is uncompromising when he commands, “I don’t ever want to have to imagine you with another man again, Kristen.”
Don’t ever mention other men to me again. That’s what he’s saying and I hear him loud and clear. I also hear andfeelhis possessiveness, and it unleashes a whole new level of craving within me. It causes me to sit up, fling my arms around his neck, and crush my mouth to his.
Our kiss is an all-consuming flame. An inferno of passion, sweeping us up, shutting out the world, making us lose all sense of anything but each other.
My hands are on his chest, his shoulders, his neck, in his hair. They’re greedy. Rough. Demanding. They can’t get enough fast enough.
His are the same. They’re all. Over. Me.
He yanks my dress over my head in one swift movement and then he’s got his mouth on my breast and I might just burn alive if he doesn’t hurry up and get inside me.
I grip his face and drag it back to mine. “I need you to fuck me. Right now.”
“Fuck,” he rasps as I begin madly undoing his belt.
Before I get it fully undone, he’s up and has me in his arms. He throws me on the bed and just when I expect him to join me, he goes in the other direction toward his dresser.
“Where are you going?” It’s a lusty, crazed demand, but really,where is he going?
He doesn’t stop. “I’m getting a condom.”
That statement is an assault on my brain. I don’t want to think about the fact he has condoms here becausethatmakes me think about the fact he’s brought other women here.
“I’m on birth control,” I throw out. “And you need to throw all those condoms away.”
That last bit comes out harshly enough to stop Bradford mid-stride. The unmasked rawness in his eyes when he turns back to me shows that he understood exactly what I meant by that statement.
Before I know it, he’s on top of me, his eyes blazing with want and possession and so many emotions I can’t even begin to pick apart right now. “Don’t ever stop feeling possessive of me.” It’s an order. A forceful, wild demand that comes from his heart, his bones, his soul. I feel it everywhere.
I kept this man waiting so long.
Too long.
And now we need only each other. Need everyone to know we’re taken.
I clutch his face. “Don’tyouever stop feeling possessive ofme.”
His nostrils flare. His eyes darken again. “If another man even breathes in your direction, I will make it so they regret that.”
Then, his mouth is on mine and he’s showing me just how much he wants me, loves me,is ruined by me.
This man owns me.
Forever.
And I will never allow anyone to come between us again.
