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Even as the orgasm fades, he’s still running his tongue over me like he wants every bit of hot, sticky sweetness spilling out of me.
Only now I’m a human live wire.
My skin, one raw nerve.
I’m nearly sobbing as I tug at his hair.
But he won’t stop—and I think I could even come again—when Grant lets out a satisfied rumble and finally lifts his head, looking at me with lazy satisfaction on his face.
“Not sorry,” he says with a slow, unapologetic grin. I blush deep enough to burn at the sight of his beard dotted with my slickness. “Just couldn’t get enough of you saying my name like that while I took your pussy to the moon.”
I make a spluttering, embarrassed sound.
“I... I wasn’t... I didn’t say your name!”
...did I?
Um, I might have confessed to murdering Julius Caesar while he had me like that.
So high on pleasure I didn’t know my own name.
And it looks like he knows that as he pushes himself up with his grin widening.
“Even better,” he rumbles, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it, then stripping his undershirt over his head.
He bares the broad expanse of his chiseled, tanned, scar-pecked chest. I love the way the dark hair outlines the inner grooves of sharp, mounded abdominal muscles and the stylized tattoos that start on his biceps and curl over his shoulders like the stripes of some large exotic cat.
“You must’ve been enjoying it, at least, if you didn’t even know you were screamin’ for me like a banshee.”
Oh, I want to kill him.
But I want to kiss him more.
He’s so good at pissing me off in the best ways.
When he moves up my body to kiss me again, when I taste myself on his lips as he smothers my mouth and crushes my body with his, I’m so ready.
A full decade worth of killing desire that’s been building up inside him comes bursting out in wild urgency, this need to be inside me.
The loud rasp of his zipper.
The crinkle of a condom packet.
Suddenly, that flesh that was only teasing me through layers of fabric before is pressed against me, nothing barring skin from skin but a paper-thin layer of latex that does nothing to buffer his heat.
The anticipation destroys me a hundred more times.
Grant’s kiss gentles as I press my thighs against his hips.
He brushes my hair back, cupping my face.
Those honey-brown eyes are so tender, but so possessive I can never imagine belonging to anyone else.
He kisses me again with the weight of the world.
“You sure you want this, Ophelia?” His tone tells me his leash is on the verge of snapping and yet it’s so powerful to know he’s holding himself back. Making sure it’s really okay. “You sure you want me?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more, Grant. Never,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his.
