Page 185 of Holding On To Good

She’d always known Urban was a man who gave unselfishly. Who put others first. A patient man. A controlled one.

A guarded one.

But now he commanded her. He didn’t wait.

He claimed her.

Discovering this side of him was almost as hot as giving her control to him.

He bent his head and took a nipple in his mouth, flicking the peak before sucking. Stabbing her fingers into his hair, she held him there, let her head fall back while he worked her breasts, sucking and licking one, pinching and tugging the other. Each pull of his mouth had her core aching with need. Each roll of his fingers had her rubbing him against him seeking relief.

Lifting his head, he spoke around her breast. “Mine.”

And that one word, said so low with so much emotion, almost undid her.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen that sharp gleam in his eyes or felt the possessiveness in his touch.

But it was the first time he’d put it into words. Into that word.

Mine.

The one thing she’d always wanted most in the world.

To be his.

She began to tremble. It should have killed the mood. She should push him away. Remind him again of the no surprises compromise and possibly add a new rule or two about not saying things in the heat of the moment that could be misunderstood.

But she knew there was no other way to take that one simple word.

He was claiming her. Again.

And making sure she knew it.

So, no, it didn’t kill the mood, it enhanced it, her body going lax and hot and wet for him. And while she did set her hands on his shoulders, it wasn’t to push him away, but to draw him nearer.

He took it for what it was. A sign of surrender. Of acceptance.

Of fierce and heated arousal.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he lifted her only to turn and set her on the stairs, his mouth going back to her breast, his other hand undoing the button of her pants. For approximately two seconds, she considered pointing out that while sex on stairs sounded great in a romance novel and looked rather enticing in Bridgerton, it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, especially for the person lying directly on those stairs.

But then he stroked her between her legs and it became the greatest idea in the history of all great ideas.

“Mine,” he repeated, moving to take her other nipple in his mouth for a hard suck before blowing on it. “Mine.”

Holding herself up on her elbows, she let her head fall back while he worked her body. It was clear what he wanted. But unlike that night at their office when he demanded more from her, he didn’t tease. Didn’t tempt.

He took.

His hand was inside her panties, but there was no soft exploration. He plundered, plunging one finger, then two, inside of her. She gasped and arched into the touch. It was rough and fast and so wonderful, she couldn’t help but pump her hips, egging him to go harder. Faster.

To give her more.

He wasn’t just a man on a mission.

He was a man with something to prove.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his low, rough tone sending a thrill through her.

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