Page 79 of Draven

I turn in his embrace, and he captures my hands, walking backward. He has that look in his eyes—the one that promises me a hard, rough time.

A pleasurable ache spreads from my abdomen, inching up into my chest. It’s been a long six weeks in recovery, and Draven hasn’t caved once to my subtle—and not so subtle—advances. The man has the most enviable control. If our roles had been reversed, I wouldn’t have managed to resist.

Now, though, he undresses me slowly, removing each article of clothing in a deliberate, measured way, as his hot gaze sends waves of longing rolling through me. Christ, I’ve missed this. Missed him. We barely had a chance to enjoy each other before the case exploded, dragging us both in a direction that hadn’t allowed time for sex.

He removes his own clothes at a much faster pace until he stands before me, inked, muscled, gloriously naked, with his thick, long cock jutting from between that delicious V. I want to climb him like the big oak tree in my parents’ backyard.

I lick my lips, and he does the same.

“How are the ribs?”

He knows the answer, but I’ll play along. “Fully healed.”

“No trace of pain?”

I swallow past a lump of excitement lodged in my throat. “None.”

“Good, because this is gonna be fast and rough.”

A shudder runs down my spine, my core dampening to welcome him. “I do hope so.”

He grips my hips and spins me around. His big palm clamps onto the back of my neck, and he bends me over the bed.

“Brace, Lola,” he says.

I prop my forearms on a fluffy pillow. This angle, low at the chest, ass in the air, gives him the perfect position to thrust into me from behind. One smooth forward movement, and he’s buried balls deep. The breath I held in my lungs comes out of me with a whoosh and a grunt.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” I groan.

I fist the sheets as he pounds into me, our brutal coming together a release of pent-up frustration we’ve both hung on to for far too long, forced into an absence of sex by my injuries. Skin slaps against skin, and sweat drips down the nape of my neck and between my breasts as Draven keeps up a consistent, punishing rhythm.

His hand drifts over my hip bone, my waist, and settles on my right breast. “I love your tits,” he rasps, his voice coming in pants, his pace increasing.

“Smooth talker.”

“Wrong guy for that,” he says, releasing my boob to move south.

He flicks my clit repeatedly. The wave starts shallow but builds within a matter of seconds. My core clenches, and I come, hard. Moaning as tiny pulses contract my muscles over and over, I clamp around his dick and bring him to his own crashing orgasm.

“Fuuuck.” He breathes harshly, gripping my hips as he thrusts into me twice more, then stills. “Shit, Lola. You have a magical pussy.”

I turn my head to the side so I can see him, and grin. “Great tits. Magic pussy. You’re stroking my ego tonight, Draven.”

He pulls out of me. It stings, and I wince. Will my body ever get used to his size, or will it always be like it’s our first time, and I’m a virgin?

Lying on the bed, he taps his thigh, waiting for me to straddle him. When I do, he cups my boobs, then leans up and sucks both my nipples into his warm, wet mouth. I groan and arch my back.

“Give me five and then I’m fucking these,” he says. “I’m gonna slide my dick between your magnificent cleavage and come all over your chest.”

His words send a gush of wetness right to the apex of my thighs, and I rub against his half-mast dick.

“I’m sure you can do better than five minutes. Stud.”

I swaddle the soft robe around my body and tighten the belt when I hear Draven turn off the shower. May as well unpack our things and check my dress doesn’t need pressing. Ciaran’s wife, Millie—who I adored from the second we were introduced—has invited us to their place for dinner this evening.

I lift Draven’s overnight bag off the chair, and his wallet falls out of the side pocket. I lean down to pick it up, and my gaze falls on his driver’s license.

No, it can’t be.

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