Page 54 of Bought
Shyness overwhelms me.
He lies on his side, elbow on the bed, his handsome face cradled in his powerful hand.
My fingers tremble as I grab for the zipper, but his free hand flies out, catches my wrist, steadying it.
“Slow,” he orders, his eyes dangerous. “I want to watch.”
Gone is the brazen nerve I had that first night, demanding he undress first.
“You’re trembling,” he says.
“I know.”
His grip tightens, a band of fire around my wrist. “I’m still going to claim you. Every inch all for myself.” He drops his hand onto the bed.
Heat sears through me. I slowly unzip the gauzy fabric, loosening it around me. When I push the sleeves off my shoulders, the top pools around my waist.
Lucky for him, this dress didn’t look good with a bra. Take that, Cassandra. My almost B-cups are driving the most gorgeous man in this city wild.
His gaze darkens, jaw clenched, as if he’s struggling to hold back. “God damn, you’re a beautiful woman.”
His words unravel me, and I don’t try to stop them. Whether they’re true doesn’t matter. He fully believes them, so I do too.
“Come here, baby.” He leans up off the bed, sitting on the edge, pulling me into him with strong hands.
His mouth is on me then, kissing, tasting, devouring my breasts, taking each nipple in turn.
As his weight settles over me, I feel the full power of him. Solid, immovable, dangerous. And it turns me to jelly.
Yet I’m not afraid. Not of him. The only thing I fear is how much I want to give him everything.
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “Say it.”
“What?” My voice is broken, breathless.
“That you want this.”
Shame burns my cheeks, but the truth is louder than my pride. “I want this. I want you.”
He groans, the sound low and wrecked, and then he takes me. Slow, controlled, and powerful. It’s not the effortless thing you see in movies or read about in books.
His body strains against mine as he pushes in slowly, carefully. I feel the pressure first, sharp and intense, and then he stills, his eyes locked on mine.
Checking me. Grounding me.
“Breathe,” he says, low and ragged, brushing a kiss to my cheek as if trying to soothe the ache burning through me.
I inhale shakily, trying to relax, to trust him. I glance down. Just the tip, and I’m already trembling. I thought that had to be most of him. My body swore it was.
Not even close.
He pushes in deeper, slow and steady, his hand on my hip holding me in place. A whimper escapes me, turning into a desperate moan. He doesn’t stop.
He’ll never stop
Instead, he soothes, he kisses, he whispers soft, reverent things against my skin.
“You’re doing so good,” he breathes, lips brushing my neck. “So fucking good for me.”
