Page 80 of Switching Graves

“I lied before, when I implied you weren’t capable of this,” he admits, falling into a slow rhythm against me. “I think you’re far more capable than I’ve given you credit for.”

My head lifts again and I glance over my shoulder with what I hope is a cocky smirk. “Good. Now, fuck me like you know you can.”

Those words activate something in him. One moment, my back is to him and the next, it’s flat against the couch with the air knocked out of my lungs. He falls over me, his lips hungrily working against mine as he settles on top of me.

Everything about us is a contradiction.

His hard hips between my soft thighs.

My heavy breaths sawing out against his calm lips.

His heavy touch digging into my malleable body.

When he pulls away, his pupils are dilated so far, I can hardly see the navy of his eyes.

Long, corded muscles flex beneath the skin of his arms as he shifts his weight onto one palm against the arm of the couch above my head. He uses the other to reach between us and give a lazy stroke to his cock, then line himself up with my center. His head slowly nudges against the entrance, then pulls back.

I whimper and he responds with a subtle grin, then pushes forward again. This time, he allows himself to enter me, and I can feel every inch of him as he slowly leans his hips forward.

A soft sigh passes through his lips and I watch his eyes roll back and shutter closed as he finally has himself seated as deeply as possible. Then, without warning, he quickly pulls back and slams forward again.

His head bends forward to wrap his lips around my exposed breast, catching my nipple between his teeth as he thrusts into me. Each time he pulls back, his teeth leave a burning sting that his tongue soothes with every thrust forward. I cry out in pleasure and pain, arching my back further into him. My body is moving on its own accord, hips meeting his every thrust and pushing him that much deeper each time.

I can’t even wrap my head around what he makes me feel. It’s wild and unrestrained. I want to be ravaged and worshipped by him.

His movements become more frenzied and uncharacteristically sloppy. Uncontrolled. He releases my breast with a pop of his lips, then shifts his weight back on his heels to gaze down at me, never breaking stride. Those wild, wanton eyes watch our bodies move together and I swear, I can almost feel his gaze on me like a physical touch.

He bites his bottom lip and reaches between us, gently rubbing his first two fingers against my swollen, sensitive clit. The smallest amount of pressure practically sends me into overdrive, and I lose my rhythm against him when my hips twitch and my legs shake as the start of an orgasm comes along.

“You’re so fucking intoxicating,” he practically groans, his voice low and strained. Then, he does the absolute worst possible thing and pulls his fingers away to slide them into his mouth and sucks them dry.

“So delicious,” he muses.

My body aches with the need for release.

“Raze,please,” I whimper again breathlessly, pouting my lips.

He slows his hips and looks back down at me with an unreadable expression, his brows pulled together in a frown. And as if the final piece holding back all his restraint breaks, the infallible mask of stuck-up, overconfident, know-it-all Dr. Whitlock shatters to reveal the real man beneath. He falls forward to capture my lips in a feral, messy kiss that surprises and exhilarates me. Shaking his arm between us, he begins rubbing my clit again and increases his speed until nothing can be heard but the pounding of our flesh and the sound of our lips.

My release sweeps me up swiftly and chaotically. I hardly feel it coming before I’m being carried away in a sea of ecstasy. Raze throws his head back and releases a deep, tormented moan.

He’s the first to move. Pushing his weight back onto his forearms, he gazes down at me with another indiscernible expression. All I can do is stare up at him through hooded eyes, my body limb and satiated.

He leans forward to softly brush his lips against mine, then drops his head into the crook of my neck. I can only lie here, frozen in fear that this spell will lift as hot, uneven breaths saw against my skin.

“You are exactly as perfect as I imagined,” he mumbles against me.

I huff out a laugh that has him pulling away to gaze down at me with his brow cocked in question. How embarrassing would it be for me to admit the same? Why does reciprocating the sentiment feel so childish coming from me?

Instead of explaining, I drop my eyes to his chest and scowl at the realistic tattoo painted across his left pectoral.

“Why is there a huge bug on your chest?”

He frowns and tilts his head, considering me. “It’s a memorial.”

“For a bug?” I laugh. But his face only grows more serious.

“No, for my brother.”

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