Page 40 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"Fiona," he gasps against my lips, and there's wonder in his voice, like he can't quite believe this is happening.
"Don't think," I whisper, trailing kisses along his jaw. "For once, please don't think. Just feel."
His restraint snaps at my words. His mouth finds mine again, hungry and desperate, while his hands roam over my back, relearning the curves and hollows he once knew by heart. When he slides his palms under my shirt, I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping before I can stop it.
"God, I've missed you," he breathes against my throat, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below my ear that always made me melt.
"Show me," I whisper, my fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, careful around the bandage but desperate to feel skin against skin. "Show me how much."
His shirt falls open beneath my fingers, revealing the lean muscle I remember so well. My hands explore the planes of his chest, tracing the new scars that weren't there before, mapping the changes time has wrought on his body. His skin burns hot beneath my touch.
Thomas groans when my fingertips graze his nipples, his hips bucking upward involuntarily. The friction sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I roll against him, seeking more of that delicious pressure.
"Fiona," he gasps, his voice ragged. His hands slide higher under my shirt, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. When I don't pull away, he cups them fully, his touch reverent.
I arch into his palms, my head falling back as sensation floods through me. The cool night air on my exposed skin contrasts with the heat of his hands, his mouth as it blazes a trail down my neck. I reach for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head in one fluid motion. His eyes darken at the sight of me in just my bra, the moonlight casting shadows across my skin.
"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," Thomas whispers, fingers tracing the lace edge of my bra before deftly unhooking it. The garment falls away, and I shiver as the night air caresses my exposed breasts.
His mouth replaces his hands, hot and eager, tongue circling one peaked nipple while his fingers tease the other. I moan, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him against me as pleasure spirals through my body. My hips rock against him, feeling his hardness through our clothes.
"Too many layers," I murmur, reaching between us to unfasten his belt. My fingers fumble with his belt, but Thomas suddenly grips my wrists, stopping me. His eyes are wild, pupils dilated with desire. Something shifts in his expression—a darkness, a hunger barely contained.
"Fiona," he growls, voice deeper than I've ever heard it. "My turn."
He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me with him. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he spins us, pressing my back against the rough stone wall. The cool surface shocks my bare skin, but his body burns against mine, a furnace of need.
His mouth crashes into mine, no longer gentle or questioning. His teeth nip at my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me that he swallows with his kiss. One hand pins both my wrists above my head while the other grips my thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
His hand slides higher along my thigh, slipping beneath my pants with determined purpose. I gasp against his mouth as his fingers trace the edge of my underwear, teasing the sensitive skin where my thigh meets my center.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, voice rough with need, his breath hot against my ear.
"Yes," I manage, barely recognizing my own voice. "God, yes."
He yanks my underwear aside with such force I hear the fabric tear. His fingers find me slick and ready, and I cry out when he slides one finger inside me without preamble. My body clenches around the intrusion, pleasure spiking through me so intensely that my vision blurs.
"So wet for me," he growls, adding a second finger, stretching me with a delicious burn. His thumb finds my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make my thighs quake. My hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, but he suddenly slows his movements to an agonizing pace.
"Thomas," I whimper, frustration building as his fingers curl inside me with excruciating deliberation, brushing that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Not yet," he whispers against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "I want to watch you come undone slowly."
His fingers twist and scissor inside me, building a rhythm that has me climbing rapidly toward release, only for him to withdraw almost completely when my breathing hitches and my inner muscles begin to flutter. I make a sound of protest, somewhere between a sob and a moan, my body aching with need.
"Please," I gasp, straining against his grip on my wrists, desperate to touch him, to regain control, but he only tightens his hold, a dark smile curving his lips.
"Not until I say," he commands, voice harsh with desire.
But something wild breaks loose inside me. With a strength born of desperation, I wrench one hand free and grab his face, forcing him to look at me.
"Now," I demand, my voice leaving no room for argument.
Something primal flashes in his eyes. He releases my wrists abruptly, stepping back just enough to tear at his belt. The buckle clangs against the stone floor as he shoves his pants down his hips with frantic movements. He's back against me in an instant, lifting me higher against the wall, his hands rough on my thighs as he positions himself at my entrance.
Our eyes lock as he presses forward, easing into me with exquisite restraint. My breath catches at the delicious stretch, the familiar yet forgotten sensation of him filling me inch by agonizing inch.
"Oh god," I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as my body accommodates him. His control is visible in thetrembling of his muscles, the tension in his jaw as he fights to maintain this torturous pace.
