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“I planned to cook you dinner,” he says, then checks the time on the oven. “But there isn’t time.” He parts my legs and steps between them. “Want a snack? Some cheese and fruit?”
“Sure.”
He plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, then goes to the fridge. Rummaging through, he takes out a block of cheese, grapes, and berries, then retrieves a knife from a drawer. One by one, he cuts off small chunks of cheese and feeds them to me with a bite of fruit between.
“After,” he holds a blueberry to my lips, “I’m feeding you.”
“You are feeding me.” I snatch the berry from his fingers.
“No.” He scoots me closer to the ledge, wedges himself between my legs, leans in and takes my nipple in his mouth. “I want to make you a meal.” He latches on to the opposite breast and sucks. “And I want to feed it to you.” His tongue trails down my midline and I gasp. “Then eat from you.” Heat pools between my legs as he circles my clit. “Possess you.”
And then his mouth is gone. Goose bumps flare as cool air bites my skin. I open my mouth to protest as he stands, but before the words form on my lips, he is there. The tip of his cock at my entrance. Thick and hot. Pulsing and ready. He licks from my chin to my nose.
“Let me possess you, little phoenix.” His tip glides up and down my slit. Teasing. Torturing. “Let me take care of you.”
He leans in, going for a kiss, but I tilt my head and expose my neck. Wet heat sparks beneath my ear and sends my eyes rolling back. I rake my nails down his spine until I reach his ass. Grab hold and pull him to me as I rock forward.
My moan and his hiss collide in the middle. His hands snake around my waist and drag me forward, into him, onto him. Rough and deep and so fucking glorious.
Another shift has me barely on the counter. His tongue on my lips, my jaw, my ear. “Hold on to me.”
I do as he says. Claw my way up the sides of his spine. Drape my arms over his shoulders. Lock my ankles above his ass. And then he moves. Rocks his hips forward. Fills me fully. Stretches me deliciously. One of his arms locks around my hips while the other glides up my spine, his hand fisting the back of my neck. Pinning me in place while he pistons in and out.
My whimpers blend with his throaty moans. The scent of sex and the echo of ball slapping fill the room. Primal and raw and unrestrained.
Then I open my eyes. Catch an obstructed view of the room. See her. See the rage and disgust and embarrassment bloom on her face.
All it does is provoke me further. Goad me to rub more salt in her proverbial wound.
My mouth turns up at the corners. A mischievous smile on my lips before I fist Lawrence’s hair, yank his head to the side, lick the line of his jaw and stop at his ear. “Possess me, Law. Make me yours.”
He growls loud enough for her to hear. Inches his fingers into my locks, fists the curls, and yanks my head back. Hard. My breasts to the ceiling as he licks down my neck, stopping at the fleshy skin above my collarbone and sinking his teeth in. I cry out—a heady mix of pleasure and pain.
“Who owns you, little phoenix?” he asks, hips rocking more vigorously.
“You do,” I stammer.
He yanks my hair again; a sharp sting at the roots. “Say the fucking words, little phoenix.”
A guttural moan rips from my throat. “You own me, Law.”
“Fucking right I do.”
Teeth bite my shoulder; sharp and vicious. My body a swarm of sensation. I sink my nails into his skin. Squeeze my legs around his frame. Then I plummet headfirst into euphoria seconds before Law pulls out and marks his territory. Paints my skin, my breasts, my throat, my face with his ownership.
I lick my lips. Taste his seed on my tongue. Then smile wickedly as Kelli turns on her heel and storms for the door.
Bye, bitch.
If Lawrence fucking me on the counter doesn’t send a clear message, I will figure out more delicious and devious ways to get it through her head. Kelli Langston thinks Lawrence is hers, but she has never been more wrong. Because this man… he is all mine.
Chapter Eight
LAWRENCE
Something isn’t adding up.
I review the Barron’s portfolio—for the third time—before our meeting at eleven. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how they are missing more than ten thousand since pulling up the accounts yesterday. If they had funds in aggressive, high-risk stocks, I would be less concerned. But Elouise and Clarence Barron have their money secured in low-to-no risk investments. Funds in 529 Plans for grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Trust funds set up for all the Barron heirs.
