Page 146 of Meet Me In The Dark
Tugging, she tests the bindings with a small smile, teasing her lips when she can’t get free. “You’re entirely too good at that.”
My heart pounds at the sight of her, exposed and waiting, her arousal glistening.
A perfect invitation.
“You’re beautiful.”
I stroke two fingers into her, relishing the gasp that escapes her parted lips as her body arches. My mouth finds her breast, teasing the hardened peak with my tongue, drawing out every moan until she trembles beneath me.
“Julian,” she begs as her hips lift, seeking more.
I pull my fingers from her, grip her hip, and push inside in one unyielding thrust. Every muscle in her body tightens around me. Her cry rips through the room, but her eyes stay locked on mine, all fire and need and that stubborn streak that will ruin me one day.
I start slow, letting her feel every inch, before I push harder. I want her to feel owned. Branded.
Even bound, she manages to look defiant.
My hand slides down her stomach, thumb finding her clit.
I want to watch her break apart piece by piece.
“Good girl,” I growl, my eyes drinking in every reaction. “You take me like you were made for it.”
She moans, legs locking tight around my waist, dragging me deeper. Her wrists strain again, but I keep her right where I want her.
“Julian, please,” she gasps. “Let me touch you.”
“Not yet.” I mouth along her neck, her jaw, stealing her breath with every kiss. “Tonight, you feel exactly how mine you are. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” She means it.
I give her more. My thumb works her clit in time with my thrusts, and she starts to shake, her walls pulling me in.
“Come for me, Celeste.”
She falls apart under me, and it drags me with her, my release hitting hard, spilling deep until I have nothing left to give.
When I can breathe again, I reach up and untie her wrists, rubbing at the marks I left before pressing my mouth to each one.
She’s mine.
I think she already knows, but every dark part of me is hers too.
Forty-Six
The rain hasn’t stopped all night.
We’re stretched out in her bed, the sheets a mess from the shower we didn’t behave in earlier. Celeste is sprawled across my chest, wearing one of my stolen T-shirts.
I run my hand up and down her back. “Why don’t you come to dinner with me?”
She tips her head back to look at me. “Are you still sulking about that?”
I don’t answer.
She huffs out a laugh at my expression and drops her head back down on my chest. “Fine. Last time a guy brought me to dinner—”
“Already hate him,” I mutter.
