Page 72 of Mr. Wicked

Too powerful.

“That’s it,” he whispered across my lips. “You’re giving me exactly what I want.”

He pinched my nipple.

Since I was staring into his eyes, I knew he was using his free hand and not his teeth.

“I didn’t even have to order you to come.” His voice quieted, his hands doing all the talking. “I can feel it ... and there it is.”

He was reading my body.

And he was dead-on because the surge was coming on fast, strong, whipping through me with such a force. I couldn’t even distinguish the waves. They were just pounding all at once.

“Ah! Fuck!” I sucked in a breath and released it. “Grayson!”

He didn’t stop.

He went faster.

Harder.

Owning me, dragging out each sensation.

Every drop of wetness.

And I clung to him, giving him all my weight, my moans, my air until there was nothing left.

Just silence.

And breathlessness.

He pulled his hand out from under my dress and it immediately went to his mouth. Our eyes locked while he sucked me off his skin. “Delicious,” he growled, his tongue lapping his thumb, pointer, and middle fingers.

If I weren’t so wound up, I would feel the heaviness of the guilt.

Possibly even regret.

But I was far too high to even consider those thoughts yet.

His wet hand moved to my face, and he pointed it up toward his. “I should go.”

“Yes.”

“You need to walk me out and kiss me at the door.”

Sloane.

The role.

How ironic that he was the one telling me that.

“Right,” I told him.

While he continued to stare at me, his expression began to change out of nowhere.

His breathing sped up.

His lips parted, hissing, “Fuck, that was hot,” just before they hardened. His jaw flexed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, like he was forcing the emotion down his throat. “But I can’t ignore the fact that you never answered my question. If you can be intimate and not grow feelings for me.” He looked past my eyes, and I swear he was searching straight into my soul. “That’s why I feel the need to remind you that we’re not going to turn out like one of those books”—he pointed at my nightstand—“with a happy ending or any shit like that. Don’t let your romantic heart make tonight more than it is. This was just me fingering you. My proposition is and will always be no strings attached. That’s not going to change.”

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