Page 25 of His Bride

“I dare you to make me.”

She kicks with her free leg and hits my stomach, my breath exploding in a grunt, and I let go of her ankle.

She rolls off to the other side of the bed, and a slight growl escapes her as she straightens.

We stare at each other. It’s charged. Electric. It’s war, and an exhilarating one at that.

My libido pounds in my veins, my cock throbbing, balls aching. The need for her is ridiculous.

“You can’t get away from me, New York.”

“Yes,” she says, “I can.”

I stalk her, and she stands her ground right up until I reach for her, then she darts away, sliding around me to the door.

I catch her by the hair as she reaches for the handle and pull her back against me, letting her feel how hard I am.

She whimpers, the sound a call to my lust, and I answer by going for blood, dropping my head and biting her neck hard, right where the vein pulses with adrenaline.

A moan escapes her lips, sending shivers down my spine and straight to my throbbing cock.

I spin her around and into the door, pinning her there. She meets my gaze defiantly, eyes sparkling with a challenge I’m all too eager to accept.

“I hate you.”

We’re so close our breath mingles.

“I fucking hate you,” she says again, but this time with more vigor. More passion. They’re words I need—especially from her.Onlyfrom her. It fuels me, the venom in her voice like a tongue’s stroke along my shaft.

“I distinctly remember you telling me you love me.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“But you love it when I touch you, don’t you? Isn’t that what all your platitudes have been? You panting for my cock?”

Slowly, I stroke my finger over her lips, then down, to press where I bit her. Her small mewl of need sucks at my prick.

I shift lower, over those tits with the hard nipples, against the fluttering of her stomach, and then between her thighs.

Fucking pure, hot honey.

My sweet little trap.

Giana.

She’s wet, so slick, and as I run my fingers over her folds, to her clit, it throbs, and she makes a small, strangled sound.

I do it again, and again, like I’m playing an instrument. Like I’m playing her. And though my dick’s ready to fuck up in her, I push my fingers into her instead, and her tight walls clench me, sucking at me.

“Don’t,” she says, thrusting her hips to me, her gaze now on my mouth, “fucking touch me.”

She shoves at me, and I take a step back.

A wicked smirk spreads over my face, feral and hungry, and I lift my hand to my mouth, licking up her taste with slow strokes of my tongue while keeping her gaze captive with mine.

The way her expression darkens, the way her lips part as she watches me, slowly losing her resistance brick by fucking brick, it’s a palpable energy that tingles along my skin.

There’s something so intensely satisfying about reducing this fierce woman to a quivering mess of need.

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