Page 45 of Boiling Point
I gave in—utterly, helplessly—hands tangled in his hair, thighs trembling around his shoulders, voice catching on every broken moan until I shattered, a cry tearing free as I came hard against his tongue.
But he didn’t stop.
He slowed, softened, licked me through it—through the tremors and the breathless blur and the melt of my bones—until my body begged for mercy.
He finally kissed his way back up, trailing heat along my abdomen, my ribs, my breasts. When his mouth met mine again, I tasted myself on his tongue. It was filthy. Intimate. Honest.
“You all right?” he asked, voice low and barely leashed.
I could only nod. Dazed, I managed, “More than.”
He pressed his body over mine again—solid, warm, and impossibly beautiful.
I’d imagined him naked before, but reality was far better. He was all carved lines and shadows—strength wrapped in elegance.The kind of beauty that did things to you if you looked too long. His abdomen flexed under my palms—hard and defined. I traced the sculpted plane of his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms, memorizing him with every pass.
He kissed me again—deeper this time—a groan rumbling against my lips as I slid my hand between us. He hissed when I wrapped my fingers around him—hot, hard, pulsing in my palm. And the sound he made when I stroked was pure poetry—broken, reverent, wrecked. He kissed me harder, like he couldn’t help himself, like he might come apart from the sheer intensity of being wanted.
I twisted beneath him, pushing at his chest until he rolled onto his back—his eyes dark, almost disbelieving. I slid lower, kissing down the center of his chest. His muscles tensed as I trailed downward—lips, tongue, teeth—all softness turning to heat.
He trailed his fingers along the curve of my spine, brushing into my hair—his gaze fixed on me like I might vanish if he blinked.
The moment I swept my tongue across his tip, he shuddered—his whole body tensing like holding himself together took everything he had. He dropped his head back against the pillow, a strangled groan breaking loose as I took him deeper. Every inch was velvet and steel, hot against my lips, pulsing with barely contained need. He dug his fingers into my hair, then clenched the sheets—as if caught between anchoring himself to me or holding on to the bed for dear life.
“God,” he gasped, hips lifting before he forced them still. “Gabrielle…”
The way he said my name—pleading, awed, and utterly undone—was everything.
I moved over him slowly, deliberately, savoring each twitch of his stomach, each breath that caught in his throat as hestruggled against the urge to let go. Each broken sound he made sent a thrill through me, and I reveled in the power of it—this brilliant, carefully controlled man unraveling beneath my touch. He gripped my shoulders, dragging me up his body until we were face to face, both breathing hard.
“Not like that,” he managed, kissing me with dizzying desperation. “Not this time.”
He rolled us, pinning me beneath him.
“Condom?” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said, pulling back just long enough to grab one from his nightstand and tear the foil. He rolled it on, eyes locked on mine, then slid a hand to my thigh, guiding us into place—close, closer—until there was nowhere left to go.
“Are you sure?”
I hesitated—not from doubt, but from awe. From the weight of what this was becoming. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said, echoing his words.
When he finally pushed into me, it was slow. Careful. One sinfully exquisite slide that filled me so completely I forgot how to breathe.
I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the feeling of him everywhere. Inside. Outside. Devouring me and holding me together all at once.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed—half-groan, half-prayer.
“Not God,” he rasped against my mouth, words fraying between kisses. “Just a man. A very, very lucky one.”
He stilled—forehead to mine, jaw clenched so tight it trembled, every muscle strained, and the heat in his eyes—God, the heat—made the rest of the world vanish.
“All right?” he asked, voice ragged. Barely holding himself together.
“Oh, yes.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring him to me.
And God, when he moved…
It shattered me.
