Page 26 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"Patience," he murmurs, his mouth trailing lower, his breath hot against my stomach.

Patience?

I want to tell him tohurry the fuck up, but then his fingers hook into the waistband of my pants, and the thought vanishes.

He strips them off in one swift motion, leaving me bare beneath him. The cool air kisses my overheated skin, but it's nothing compared to theheatof his gaze as he drinks me in.

I should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

Instead, I feelpowerful.

Because he'slosing control.

And Iloveit.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading them apart as he settles between them, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thigh, teasing, dragging this outon purpose.

Then his breath fans over the most sensitive part of me, and my whole bodylocks up.

"Adrian—" My voice is raw, desperate.

He groans, like hearing me like thisdestroyshim, and then?—

His tongueflicks.

A cry tears from my throat as pleasureexplodesthrough me, hot and sharp. My back arches, my fingers clutching the sheets as hedevoursme, his mouth moving slow, deliberate, working me apart with each deep, sinful stroke.

My thighs tremble around his head, but heholds me down, his grip firm as he pushes me higher until I'm gasping, writhing,beggingfor release.

It builds. Tightens. Astorminside me, on the verge of breaking.

Then his fingers slide inside me, curling, stretching,preparing.

A choked moan escapes my lips as he works me open, his tongue still teasing, his pace unrelenting.

"Fuck—Adrian?—"

His name is a plea, a prayer, a demand.

He growls against me, sending vibrations through my core, and the sensationwrecksme. The pleasuresnaps, a violent, shuddering release that leaves me breathless, my body shaking beneath him.

But hedoesn't stop.

His fingers are slow and gentle now, easing me down, but the fire between us is nowhere near extinguished.

By the time he rises over me again, his face dark with hunger, his breathingwrecked, Ineedhim.

My hands reach for him, dragging his pants down, desperate to feelallof him.

His body is a masterpiece—strong, defined, muscles flexing as he hovers over me, his control hanging by a thread.

"Elara," he rasps, pressing his forehead against mine. His hands settle on either side of my head, bracing himself. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I meet his gaze, my body aching, my pulse racing.

"Don't stop."

A sharp inhale, a sound that's almost a groan, almost a curse. Then?—

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