Page 14 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

That is, of course, until he kicks a knee up to knock me forward.

I fall onto him and kiss him, his lips every bit as eager as mine. The press is an indulgent competition. I’m on top, but he’s demanding.

Strong, firm fingers roam over my skin, gripping and exploring the planes and slopes of my body. Wick slips a hand under the fabric to knead my lower back and rubs his thumb over the round edge of my belly.

He growls, his mouth pulling away from mine. He sinks his face between my breasts and then seeks out a nipple.

The gorgeous man beneath me sucks the hard bud into his mouth, his teeth sinking into the delicate skin.

“Fuck, Grace,” he groans as he stands with me in his arms. I have a moment of panic, but he never wavers. He never loses his balance.

No, instead, Wick charges through the hotel room and kicks open the double doors to a luxurious bedroom.

See? Heft. Heft or he gets left.

He throws me onto a king bed with soft, sateen sheets. Windows overlook the city and display a view that stretches unobscured to the suburbs on the outskirts of Tavers City.

“This is coming off,” he mutters and wrestles the dress down and off my feet.

Bending my knees, I twist and arch my back to create a nice curve and splay my hair out so that the color will contrast with the stark white sheets.

“Absolutely perfect,” he tells me and kneels on the bed at my feet. Wick skims his hand from my toes, up my calf, and along my thigh until his hand finds my center. He rubs two fingers over my core, soaking my panties with my wetness and playing with me.

Before I can object, he hooks those two fingers into the crotch and tears them off my legs.

I’m in a bed with a million-thread count sheets, naked, while the hottest guy I’ve ever met calls me “perfect.”

Heaven.I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I have secured heaven.

His hand returns, his thick fingers massaging my opening but not pressing in.

“Condom?” I ask before I’m too far gone to know better.

He grits his teeth but doesn’t object. Instead, he withdraws and disappears into the next room.

When he returns, he holds up the square package with a flourish.

Instead of undressing and rolling it on, though, he kneels, plants broad shoulders between my legs, and sinks his face between my thighs.

Wick’s tongue is sheer magic. He licks my pussy as if it’s more for him than for me. He’s every bit as assertive as before, forcing my legs wider to make space for his broad shoulders and playing with the crease where my ass meets my thighs.

I’ve never been with a man this dedicated to satisfying me.

Most men are hesitant. They don’t know how to ask me what I like. They think I want whatever they’re doing.

Wick seems to know, all on his own.

As each second passes by, I can tell he’s focused wholly on me, my responses, and my body. It should probably make me feel uncomfortable. With anyone else, I’d be self-conscious.

But with Wick?

His eyes flare with desire and his breath is hot on bare skin.

There is no hesitation. No pause. No contemplation.

Just raw, fiery need.

When I can’t stand it anymore, I grip his thick hair at the root and jerk his head upward.

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