Page 108 of SNOB

“You know you can use your words, right? You don’t always have to be so dramatic.”

“You know better, Butterfly.” He pulls me further into his lap, between his legs. “Where’s the fun in that?” He pulls the blazer hanging over my shoulders down, his lips landing on my neck. His fingers move to my chin, tilting my head back to his. And when his lips press to mine, everything feels right.

Mac’s lips fit like the perfect colours on a canvas. They always have. His fingers trail down my neck, tingles sparking with every inch as they travel over my tits. I don’t squirm, I don’t pull away. I let him explore me. Despite how vulnerable I feel, I need him to.

That rush fills me when one hand pinches my nipple, the other moving between my legs. My back relaxes against his chest as Mac finds my centre, a soft moan escaping on his lips before his mouth releases me.

“You’ve had a rough go, Everett.” He sticks his fingers into my wetness before pulling it out, rubbing it over my most sensitive button. The way Mac touches me always feels intuitive, not calculated like he is. He doesn’t follow steps. He listens to the way my body responds to him, and he knows when it's time to dominate and when it's time to spoil me. When my back arches against him, he stops, his chuckle in my ear making me want more. “Sssh. Settle your wings, Butterfly and let me take care of you.”

“Mac,” I murmur, a spark coming as his hands caress my breasts, teasing and tickling my nipples in the same fluttery way he toys with my clit.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” I can feel his hardness against my ass as candles flicker around us. My body feels as soft as the glow in the room.

“Yes,” I moan, my hips grinding against his fingers, rocking back and forth again before he stops.

“Greedy,” he groans.

“Please,” I beg, his touch the softest I’ve felt in a while.

“Tell me what I want to hear, Butterfly,” he groans, patting his fingers against my clit in a way that makes my entire body shudder.

“Take me,” I moan as his fingers tighten around my nipple. He’s playing me in a way only he knows how. Skilled. Experienced. Like he’s known me forever. “Have me.”

His fingers run circles around my clit, my body bucking against him again. The heat between us is enough to set this entire room ablaze. “What else?”

“Please…” I beg, feeling my body at the edge again. “Please, Mac.”

“I love it when you beg.” His hand comes to my throat, leaving my nipples aching for more. “Say it.” He rubs me faster, my body filling with tingles. That ache in my stomach begs for a release, for that quiet in the storm, for my body to give in to him.

Then he stops again.

My words are the only thing to fill the room as the song stops. “I’m yours.”

He growls, my back hitting the soft blanket against the floor as he climbs on top of me. Then he devours me. His tongue runs over mine, his hand coming to my hair, gripping it in that possessive way that makes me feel special. Wanted.

“Oh god,” I moan, his lips quieting me before he enters me. My eyes roll back in my head, feeling the way he hits my spot. When his hand comes to my throat, the mix of passion and pain takes me to the fucking stars.

“Look at me,” he groans, his hips working in overtime, the quickness of his pace taking my breath away. My eyes open to him, his grip on my throat tightening. “Good fucking girl.”

My legs wrap around him, wanting his body as close as I can get it. The heat from his skin matches mine as my hips rock against him. “I want your all,” I moan against his lips. His eyes narrow but I beg for it. “I want everything. Make me yours. Be mine.” His grip around my throat tightens, his cock throbbing against my walls. His thickness threatens to burst inside of me as his thrusts get harder, his breaths heavier.

“I am,” his teeth sink into my lip, his body stiffening on top of me as he fills me with everything he has, connecting me to him in the way I crave. He pulses into me with a passion I’ve always mistaken for hostility but our bodies were sure about this all along. “Don’t forget it.”

When my eyes open again, a few candles still flickering around us.

When I reach for Mac’s body, he’s right there. Right where I left him. Next to me.

Mine.

He’s awake, the screen on his phone the brightest thing in the room. My body still aches when I push up to where his head is. I can’t tell whether that’s from Picasso’s or the onslaught Mac let loose on my body. I focus on the latter, telling myself he’s erased the pain.

“Do I have to put you back to sleep?” he asks, noticing me awake.

“I should eat first,” I murmur, my stomach grumbling as I find my appetite. I want to stay in this state forever. Just Mac and I. No one else. Nothing else.

“Me too,” he groans, a twitch beneath the blanket covering us and I know he isn’t talking about food.

His phone comes to his chest, next to my head, but when my eyes land on the words on the screen, my breath hitches.

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