Page 63 of The Founder's Power

I blink. “Yours or mine?”

His smile is slow, dangerous, and devoted. “Start with yours.”

There’s something different in his voice tonight. A quiet authority. Not cold, not controlling. Whatever it is, it’s making me wet and sends a shiver down my spine.

I do as he says, slipping the fabric over my head and letting it fall to the floor. He watches every movement, eyes tracking over me with a hunger that makes my nipples harden.

“Now mine,” he says.

I step close, fingers finding the hem of his tee, lifting it over his head. He shrugs it off then grabs my wrist and pulls me flush against him.

“You’ve had your turn,” he murmurs, lips brushing my temple. “Now I’m in charge.”

I gasp as he pushes me gently back toward the bed. Not rough. Not rushed. Intentional.

He lays me down, kneels between my thighs, and slides my panties off with agonizing care. Then he rises above me, kisses me deep, possesses me with his mouth, and murmurs against my lips, “Spread your legs for me.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes,” he growls.

“Order me again.”

“Spread your legs for me now.”

I do willingly and eagerly.

Immediately, he sinks into me, slow at first then deeper and firmer. He locks eyes with me, and his gaze holds me there. His thrusts are deliberate and commanding. Being dominated by him like this… I’m almost enjoying this too much.

One hand grips my hip, anchoring me in place as his body moves over mine, in mine, with mine, his rhythm unyielding, his voice low and coaxing and utterly in control.

“You like this,” he breathes. “Being taken. Being mine.”

“Yes,” I gasp, nails digging into his back.

He kisses my throat, my jaw, my shoulder, never once letting me look away. “Then give it to me. Everything.”

I do. Every gasp. Every cry. Every pulse of pleasure that builds until my back arches off the bed.

He kisses the sound of my moan off my lips. I swear he’s hungry, swallowing every breathless cry I give him like he owns them.

When I come apart beneath him, shaking and gasping and trembling through the last waves of release, he doesn’t slow down.

He growls low in my ear, his voice rough and shaking with restraint. “Don’t close your eyes. I want to see you feel every second of this.”

I try.

God, I try.

But he’s relentless. His thrusts are harder now and deeper, his grip tightening on my hips as he pins me in place and drives into me like he needs to brand me with the feel of him.

He hooks my thigh higher around his waist and leans in close, forehead pressed to mine, his eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing tethering him to earth.

“This is what,” he grits out, each word edged with heat and hunger, “we are.”

He kisses me again, deep and claiming, his hips slamming into mine with a rhythm that makes me whimper.

“You’re not just mine in the morning or at night,” he says, breathing hard, sweat beading at his temple. “You’re mine when I’m inside you like this. When I’m giving you everything I never let myself feel before.”

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