Page 75 of The Holiday Clause
He grinned at her cockiness, but feared there was more at stake between them than the physical. “Ride my hand.” He purposely used the weight of his body to overwhelm her, showing her the way he wanted her to move. “Like this.” He rocked his hips against her ass. “Like we’re fucking.”
She was a quick study. Her hips rolled as his finger teased inside of her tight heat. Her moans grew louder and her fingers curled against the plaster wall. His other hand rode up her front, past her neck, to frame her jaw. He turned her ear toward his mouth and whispered, “Last night, after you left, I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Do you know why, Wren?”
“Why?”
“Because I could smell you on my fingers all night.”
She shivered, her fingers splaying on the wall as her body shook. Slick heat washed over his touch as she moaned his name. “Grey...”
That little plea was his undoing.
Holding her jaw, he took her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. “You like the thought of driving me crazy?” He fucked his finger deeper. Drunk on the taste of her forbidden kisses, he growled. “Say my name again.”
“Greyson...”
“Fuck.” He withdrew his touch and lifted her into his arms, carrying her straight to his bed. Kissing her hard, he stretched his body over hers, pinning her beneath him so she couldn’tescape. He couldn’t stop kissing her, pawing at her like an animal. “Don’t hate me, Wren.”
“I could never.”
“We’ll see.” Shoving her pants past her hips, he rubbed the bulge of his hard cock against her wet panties. If he took his dick out this would be over. “We’re breaking all the rules, now.”
“What rules?”
She knew the fucking rules. He scooted lower, framing her breasts but not taking off her shirt. He kissed whatever skin he found, licked over the strip of exposed flesh by her hips, bit at the tender side of her belly. She arched and pulled at his clothes, but he forced her hands to her side.
“Stay like that.”
He tugged her ass to the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor. Down went the panties to her knees. Slowly, he pushed her thighs apart. Glistening, pink folds.
Wren’s pussy.
He couldn’t breathe.
She looked fucking perfect.
There.
Everywhere.
Too goddamn perfect.
This could only be wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He traced a finger between her folds, and a jagged breath escaped in a moan. Glossy. Soft. He blew over her slit, showing her how close he sat.
His mouth watered as her unique scent intensified. He licked his lips, his hunger for her doubling as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.
Her clothes tangled at her knees, limiting his access, but adding another layer of protection. All pants needed to stay on.
Leaning forward, he whispered, “Just a taste.”
Sharp and earthy, he closed his eyes and savored the flavor of Wren. A thousand unique notes of her danced on his tongue. “Jesus. You taste better than I imagined.” Sliding his tongue through her slit and closing his lips around her clit, he shut his eyes and groaned.
She tasted like Wren. Wild. Unrefined. Natural. Familiar. Forbidden. He would go straight to hell for this.
Her breath hitched when he buried his face between her legs with ruthless abandon, claiming her with savage intensity. When she squirmed, nervous and edgy, he caught her hands, devouring her like a man starved, feasting with ravenous hunger.
“Greyson!”
