Page 78 of Switching Graves

The only sign that he’s surprised by my silent agreement to his offer are his eyebrows flicking upward before resuming their usual shadowed scowl. He only allows a millisecond to pass before he’s pushing off the desk and grabbing me by my thighs to hoist me up into his arms with my legs straddling his torso.

In the next blink, his lips are on mine.

They’re softer than I expected. Gentler, but still just as dominant. I’m so swept up in his tongue swiping against my lips, I almost don’t realize he’s carried me over toward the door so he could shut and lock it. Next, he flips the switch on the wall and blankets the room in almost pure darkness before parading us over to the leather couch and softly setting me down.

He pushes his pants down his legs, kicking them off his ankles, and then reaches on the shelf beside me to grab a candle and a lighter.

And while I want to ask what he’s doing, I’m far too distracted by the sheer size of his erection tenting his briefs to form words.

I was way off with my insult earlier. That thing couldmost certainlygag me.

“As much as I’d love to leave every light on to witness each menial detail of the multiple orgasms you’re about to have, I have a sense that you’ll be quite loud. I don’t want anyone interrupting us because they think I’m murdering you,” he explains, flicking the small lighter and holding it against the wick.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” I scoff, crossing one ankle over the other.

The longer he’s away from me, the more insecure I feel. Doubt begins to claw its way into my mind, slowly chasing away the confidence I had before.

Setting down the candle, he prowls back over to the couch, stopping right in front of me. With that wicked smirk, he falls to his knees and grabs each of my thighs, then quickly rips them apart far enough for his shoulders to fit between them. My muscles tense, but I force myself to take a deep breath and relax.

He drops his voice an octave, caressing his fingers against my inner thighs. “I’ve had a lot of time to imagine how this would go . . . ”

When he reaches the spot from earlier and notices the purple and black marks that are already forming, he leans forward and places a gentle kiss on each one. Every time his lips meet my skin, I melt down slightly further until my body feels like nothing more than soft putty for him to form and shape however he pleases.

Lifting his gaze to my panties, he hooks his thumbs on either side of my hips and tugs them down with a dark chuckle.

“Such a beautiful little liar,” he muses, holding them between us to show me their saturation.

It’s almost distracting enough to make me forget I’m completely exposed to him with his face just a few inches away.

Almost.

Scooting back onto the couch, I attempt to put some distance between us but he grabs my calves and pulls me down further, until I’m perfectly lined up with his chastising expression.

“If at any point, you decide you don’t want to do this, you can tell me.” When I nod just a little too fast, he tilts his head. “Don’t start getting shy on me now, Little Nightmare. I need you at your worst.”

Biting my lip, I smile sheepishly, and then try to relax again. I should have taken the glass of wine to calm down. This is torture—boomeranging between emotions. The more tense I get, the more insecure I feel and it’s all starting to seem like a colossal mistake. On the other hand, I want this.

No, I need this. On a cellular level, I need this.

When he leans forward again, I stay in my spot but lay my arm across my eyes.

I’m too much of a coward to watch him.

His hot sigh hits my center, and I’m melting again. A simple kiss on the top, innermost part of my thigh has me shuddering out a breath as I lean my head back against the cushion behind me.

Until a large hand wraps around my wrist and tugs my arm off my face.

“I want you to watch me devour you,” he grinds out, returning his hand between my legs to swipe two fingers through my slit.

I gasp, bucking my hips forward and into him.

“I want you to know what it feels like when a real man eats your pussy, so you never accept anything less again.”

My heart shudders in my chest at the predatory expression that’s taken over his face. The aloof, polite professor is long gone, and in his place is the real Raze Whitlock—the cursed man I’ve been warned away from. Someone I get the feeling that few people actually know.

He doesn’t move a muscle until I acknowledge the command, but all I can muster is a stiff tilt of my chin. Thankfully, he accepts, dropping his lashes back down to my soaking wet center. His tongue sweeps against his bottom lip as his arms snake around my thighs, spreading them as far as they’ll go before he leans forward and takes his first taste.

I cry out, shocked at how hot his mouth is against me. Every other man I’ve been with has felt cold and reluctant—a bunch of insecure mouth breathers.

---