Page 160 of Traitor

How the fuck does he do that? Is he supernatural? Some kind of sorcerer?

I exhale shakily, reaching up, letting my finger trace over his lower lip, and his breath catches.

I rise onto my toes, my heels still making me too short compared to him. I press my lips softly to his, whispering against them.

"Show me your room, Prez."

His entire body tenses.

His eyes go black with hunger.

And then, I'm airborne.

"Hold on to your drink, baby."

That's all the warning I get before he lifts me into his arms and carries me through a door.

I don't hold onto my drink.

It crashes somewhere in the hallway.

I barely fucking notice.

We don't make it to the bed.

The moment he kicks the door shut, I'm pinned against it, his hands gripping my waist, his mouth slamming into mine with bruising force. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. He devours me like he's been starving his whole life, like I'm the only thing that can fucking save him.

My legs are wrapped around his waist, my back pressed against the cold wood, his body heat scorching through me. His lips leave mine, traveling down, tracing the column of my throat, his teeth scraping over my pulse point. I shudder. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging, guiding, silently begging for more.

His hands move, one gripping my ass, holding me up, the other sliding between us, pushing my soaked panties to the side.

"Fuck, baby," he growls, his fingers slipping through my wetness. Testing. Teasing. "You're dripping for me."

I whimper.

"Tell me you want this." His breath is hot against my jaw, his fingers pressing right there, making me jerk in his grip. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

I can barely fucking breathe. "Fuck me, Bones."

He doesn't hesitate.

There's the sound of a zipper, the desperate rustling of fabric, and then he pauses, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed to mine.

"Fuck. Condom," he mutters, pulling back just enough to dig into his back pocket. His hands shake as he rips the foil open, rolls it on, and then he's inside me.

One powerful thrust.

I scream.

My nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches me, fills me to the point of madness, a burning, overwhelming ache that I don't ever want to end.

"Jesus," he groans against my lips, his hands gripping me tight, holding me steady. "So fucking tight."

And then he moves.

Rough. Hard. Punishing.

Each thrust slams me harder against the door, knocking the breath from my lungs, making me see stars. My moans mix with his low, guttural curses, the sound of skin on skin, the sharp, ragged breaths between each thrust.

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