Page 47 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

Finally—finally—his thumb found her sensitive flesh.

At the first touch against her clit, Brynleigh panted.

He pressed harder.

She moaned.

The sound spurred him on, and he slipped a finger into her wet heat. She moved against him, his hand firm on her hip as he held her in place.

He was hard behind her, his impressive length pressing against her lower back, and he slowly pumped his finger in and out of her.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled.

She needed more. As if he sensed it, he added another finger. They drove into her, giving her more and more. She writhed against him.

Pleasure built. The fog in her mind remained, but she no longer cared.

There was just this moment, her and the man whose voice made her feel safe, and nothing else.

She was so close. So coiled. So ready.

It had been far too long since she’d been with anyone, and she needed this man in a way she’d never needed anyone.

“Fuck yes, that’s it,” he said encouragingly. He kissed the corner of her lips, her jaw, her neck. “Let go, sweetheart.”

He added a third finger, stretching her as his movements sped up.

Moaning, her fingers curled in the sheets as she chased her release. It was so close.

He kept speaking as he touched her. Telling her how much he dreamed of this. How much he wanted this. How good she felt pressed against him. He told her how he’d take her next, lay her beneath him, and let her feel his full weight. He would take care of her, giving her everything she needed.

There was a forcefulness in his voice, a dominance that Brynleigh usually didn’t enjoy from partners.

But here? Now?

She would let him do whatever he wanted to her.

His thumb found her clit once more, and she screamed.

“I’m so close,” she whimpered.

He released her hip. She didn’t have time to mourn the lack of his touch because he tugged down the straps of her slip, exposing her breasts to the night air.

“Fucking beautiful,” he breathed.

His fingers grazed her hardened nipples. Every touch, every twist of his skilled fingers against her pebbled flesh, brought her closer and closer to that cliff. She kept her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, with her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

His lips grazed hers. It was feather-light, a winter breeze against her mouth, not a kiss. It was airy, and she wanted more.

“Let go, Brynleigh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And she did.

He held her, never stopping his sensual touch, as she finally careened off that precipice. Waves of pleasure coursed through her until she was limp in his arms.

He kissed her and laid her down on the bed. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

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