Page 115 of Raise Hell

“Drake…”

His body covers mine as he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of my ear. “Come.”

I do, hard enough it’s a shock. Electricity moves up my spine, arching my back off the altar as my mouth opens in a silent cry.

Drake continues to move my fingers with his hand, gradually slowing as the shivers wrack my body.

I look down between our bodies to see that his own pants are undone. His hand shifts away so I get a clear view.

Damn.

He is thick and hard, light from the candle flames dancing across the shaft as he slowly strokes himself.

I should shove him away and run, stop this speeding train before it flies off a cliff.

But I don’t do that.

“Hurry,” I groan.

Drake yanks my jeans off the rest of the way. I try to help him by kicking at the fabric with my legs, but the frantic movement is probably more of a hindrance.

Once they’re off, along with my panties, he pulls my hips to the edge of the altar so my ass hangs a bit over.

He doesn’t reach for a condom, and I don’t bother to insist on one. Not just once, but now twice.

My mother used to ramble when she drank, back when a cocktail could briefly make her happy before she inevitably got sad. She would give Olivia and I advice that was never worth following, like how a man will always make the first move if he’s interested and that you should never call a boy if you spoke with him the day before.

But I have always followed one piece of her advice.

Never let a guy do something with you that can make a baby, unless you actually want him as a father for your children.

Up until now, I have never broken that rule. No guy has ever seemed worthy of the risk, and I never lose my head enough to ignore that risk.

Until Drake.

Because right now, under a ceiling painted with weeping angels, I don’t want to think about the consequences.

He pushes inside me, and all logical thought flees from my mind.

I’m so wet that my body is more than ready for him. But I stop a frantic inhale of breath as my walls instinctively tighten around him.

His answering groan sings through me. “You feel amazing.”

I expected a frenzy, something quick and rough.

Drake fucks me so gently that it hurts. Not the kind of pain that is physical, but one that feels like my soul is being flayed into pieces.

“Drake…”

He silences me with another kiss, gaze intent on the place where our bodies meet.

I need him to go faster and harder, something to take me away from the approaching turmoil of my thoughts.

“Faster,” I beg.

He doesn’t give it to me.

“Relax.” There is the slightest mocking note in his voice. “No need to rush.”

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