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“Oh my God,” I whisper, my mind spinning.
“Still no God here. Only me.” He intensifies his thrusts, adding a finger to my unsuspecting rear hole, but it feels too good and I can’t think straight. I push up my ass to meet him, forgetting I’m tied, forgetting he scares me to death. When he starts circling my clit, teasing it, as he keeps thrusting, I begin to shake.
“Say my name as you come, Kerry. I want to hear you say it. No fucking God.”
I tense, can barely get air, gasp, writhe. “Oh my God, Christian, I’m coming!” I cry as my insides begin to convulse around his fingers, which relentlessly keep thrusting, and I come undone, boneless, losing myself in the throes of the orgasm.
Then he takes me again. It’s rough, brutal, an unapologetic claiming of my body, a frightening display of the power he wields over me, and I wish I could say I don’t want to see him ever again, that it’s too much. But I can’t.
I’m lost in his hands, in his care, in his force, in everything Christian Russo.
When I wake,I lie glued to his body, snuggled in between his arm and his chest and yet again I feel so oddly safe, cared for.
My heart nearly bursts from his skin on mine, from the feeling of his slowly rising and falling chest. My heart tells me I’m in love, infatuated, absolutely fucking crazy about this man. My mind tells me to run. Far away and fast. My mind tells me he’s dangerous, that he’ll keep pushing, that he’ll swallow everything that is Kerry Jackson.
I doze off, and when I wake the next time, he’s gone. At first, I think he’s left, and my stomach clenches in disappointment, but a vague scent of coffee wafts up from downstairs, dissipating that thought immediately. China and cutlery rattle. My heart jolts. Oh my God, is Christian making me breakfast?
I don’t know if I should get up, or stay in bed, but I have a feeling he has a plan, so I wrap the comforter tighter and snuggle in. Burying my nose in the pillow he used, I inhale deeply, sniffing the rich spicy scent. It does funny things to me. I tingle, almost ache. He’s only downstairs, but I miss him already.
When footsteps approach, the old wooden stairs creaking under his weight, I can’t pretend to sleep. I sit up straight, making sure the comforter covers my naked chest.
Christian walks in, carrying a tray. “Hey, you.” He’s dressed in only his dark gray briefs and a black shirt that he’s left unbuttoned. I can’t help how my eyes are inadvertently pulled to his ripped abs, his powerful thighs. And the bulge. Seeing him makes my mouth water.
He’s not stupid. He’s the most attentive person I’ve ever met, and a smirk pulls at his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Good morning,” I say shakily, “I thought you’d left.”
“That’s no way to treat a lady. What kind of a brute do you think I am? Scoot over.” He puts the tray on the bed next to me. “Black coffee, a boiled egg, medium, I have no idea how you prefer them—”
I know exactly what kind of a brute I think he is. My aching body, and my raw pussy are a powerful reminder of that, but I don’t say it because right now everything is perfect.
“Medium, please.”
“Toast, strawberry jam and peanut butter.” He wrinkles his nose, and I do too. Then we both burst out laughing.
“Not a favorite?” he asks.
“Mmm no… But I’ll love it today.”
“I can go make new ones, what do you prefer?”
I grab his arm. “No, please stay. It’s perfect.” I pat the bed. “Come sit with me.”
The smile that spreads on his face makes my heart tremble.
Taking a sip of the coffee, I then devour the sandwich in a few quick chews. Christian puts his thumb to the corner of my mouth and wipes something off.
“Jam.”
“You can’t touch me when I eat… I lose my appetite.”
He barks out a laugh. “That wasn’t very flattering.”
My cheeks heat up. “You know what I mean.”
His gaze travels the contour of my body. “You still naked under there?”
“Mm-hmm.” I glance at his bulge, watching it grow. The vision sends a flurry of tingles through me.
