Page 127 of The Plus One Contract

His voice is strained when he says, “I thought you said we weren’t doing this again.”

I nod, every inch of me burning for his touch. “I lied.”

That’s all it takes.

His hands are on me in the next breath. They’re firm and claiming. His fingers slide into my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth crashes down on mine. There’s no hesitation or teasing lead-up, just pure, unrestrained desperation. He kisses me with a hunger that knots my stomach and sets every nerve on fire, his tongue delving into my mouth like he’s done waiting, done pretending this thing between us isn’t real.

His hands drop to my waist, walking me backward in slow, calculated steps.

My body isn’t my own anymore.

It’s his.

The backs of my legs hit the bed, and before I can catch my breath, he’s gripping my hips and lifting me onto the mattress. A sharp inhale snags in my throat as I land, staring up at him.

Nathan fucking Calloway, the man who once took me to his penthouse and ruined me in every way. But this is different because it isn’t just sex. It’s scarier than that.It’s something deeper that we both feel but won’t dare name.

He stands there, chest rising and falling, pupils blown wide, then slides his hands up my thighs, bunching the silky fabric of my dress in tight fists.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, voice ragged with fraying restraint.

When have I ever?

I shake my head. “No.”

“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he murmurs, dragging the dress higher, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin at the top of my thighs.

I exhale sharply. “I can’t.”

A dark, possessive sound rumbles in his chest. He grips the fabric and tugs, yanking my dress up and over my head in one swift motion. Cool air hits my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging through me as his gaze devours my bare breasts, my flushed skin, the lace panties that are already damp for him.

I expect him to pounce, but he doesn’t.

He kneels.

Large hands slide up my thighs, parting them with a grip that’s reverent, like he’s unwrapping a gift. In the next fractured breath, he’s there, mouth on me.

A strangled sound tears from my throat as his tongue drags a slow stripe over my panties.

He groans, the vibration making my legs tremble.

“Christ, Sienna,” he mutters, pressing his lips to my inner thigh, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

He hooks a finger into the lace and tears it. Not slides it off. Tears. Then his mouth is back on me, and I lose everything.

Coherent thought, breath, self-control.

He licks and sucks, tongue working me open, owning me with every filthy drag of his mouth. He grips my thighs, holding me down when my body jerks, my hands flying to his hair, pulling hard.

He groans like he wants that, like he wants me to use him. My head tips back, moans ripping past my lips as he teases meup, up, upuntil I’m so tight, so close, so fucking gone.

“Nathan,” I gasp, voice raw and needy.

His grip tightens. “Say it again.”

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a choked cry as his tongue flicks just right on my clit, the pressure perfect, pushing me over the edge.

“Oh my God,” I manage, body locking up as I shatter, pulsing against his mouth. My vision goes white, pleasure crashing down in waves that steal my breath. He doesn’t let up. He drags his tongue through every aftershock until I’m trembling and pleading.

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