Page 71 of Glitter Rose
His words light a fire through my veins, turning the ice of four months’ isolation I should have been used to into steam. His mouth travels from my lips to my jaw, trailing hot kisses down to the bruises on my neck. He hesitates there, his breath a gentle caress against the marks.
“I’ll kill him,” he whispers against my pulse point, and the vibration of his voice sends tremors through my body.
“Later,” I breathe. “Need you now.”
“We shouldn’t—” he starts, but I silence him with another kiss.
The rational part of my brain knows this is insane. Gabriel’s house. My prison. Anyone could walk in. But the broken part doesn’t care. I need something, him, to remind me I’m still human. Still alive. Still capable of feeling something besides fear and pain.
He tugs my shirt up, and I raise my arms, desperate for his skin on mine. The fabric barely clears my head before his mouth is on my breast, teeth grazing my nipple. I gasp, the sensation shooting straight between my legs.
“Quiet.” He muffles me with his hand. “Can’t let them hear.”
I nod against his palm, eyes wide. He removes his hand only to replace it with his mouth, swallowing my moans as his fingers work at the drawstring of my leggings. I lift my hips, helping him slide them off my legs with my underwear.
“Your turn.” My fingers fumble with his uniform, yanking at buttons that refuse to cooperate.
He helps, shrugging out of the jacket, then removing his shirt. He’s broader than I remember.
I let my fingers glide over his chest, tracing the roadmap of new scars, his muscles twitching beneath my touch. Down, down I go, following the ridges to his belt. My hands tremble as I work the buckle, the metal clinking as it gives way.
“Missed you.” I pop the button on his pants. “Every fucking day.”
His chest heaves, his breath coming in shallow pants as I lower his zipper. “Paris?—”
“Shh.” I free his hard length, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
I gather it with my thumb, bringing it to my lips. The salt-bitter taste bursts on my tongue as I lick it up, eyes locked on his.
His pupils blow out, nearly black. “Fuck.”
In the blink of an eye, he grabs both my wrists, pinning them above my head against the cold floor. His weight shifts, settling between my thighs, his cock nudging my entrance. I’m already embarrassingly wet, body remembering exactly what it’s been missing.
He rolls his hips, the head of his cock parting my folds, teasing but not entering. The pressure is exquisite torture.
“Mine,” he growls, tightening his grip on my wrists. “Say it.”
“Yours.” My voice breaks on the word. “Always have been.”
His nose grazes mine. “Need you so fucking much.”
“Then take me.” I angle my hips, trying to draw him in deeper. “Make me feel something good again.”
He stretches me open in one slow, but relentless thrust.
The burn is delicious, my body yielding to the rightness of him inside me again. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he withdraws almost completely before slamming back in.
“Did you miss this, too?” His other hand cradles my jaw, thumb freeing my lip. “Miss my cock filling you up?”
“Yes.” I meet his thrusts, reclaiming parts of myself I thought were lost forever.
Footsteps approach in the hallway outside, and Knox freezes mid-thrust.
A knock.
Then my brother’s voice. “Paris?”
Knox resumes his movements, slower now but no less deep. His teeth graze my earlobe as he whispers, “Answer him.”
