Page 158 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
He finally sets me down, or rather, lets me fall onto the bed. My hair fans across the sheets, and I’m breathless, flushed, caught somewhere between amusement and anticipation.
Arlo stands over me, his chest rising, the top buttons of his shirt undone, his eyes dark and fixed on me like he’s about to devour me.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
His gaze drags down my body and back to my face, and there’s nothing but possession and awe in his eyes.
He lowers himself onto the bed, bracing over me, his legs on either side of mine, his weight dipping the mattress beside me.
His breath is warm against my skin as his face hovers near my neck. He breathes me in, and a tremor runs down my spine.
I pull him closer, my hands grazing his back, revelling in the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.
He captures my mouth in a heated kiss that steals my breath. Without breaking it, he somehow manages to slide my jacket from my shoulders and toss it aside.
I fumble with his shirt, my fingers clumsy in my hurry. Buttons snap, but I don’t stop until it’s off him.
He breaks the kiss and stands, breathing hard.
He pulls the shirt the rest of the way off, muscles shifting under his skin. Then he unbuttons his trousers, lets them fall, and straightens, his thick length twitching.
He looks at me and growls, “I need you naked.”
With one hand, he grips me and pulls me forward, the other stripping the dress from my body and tossing it into the growing pile on the floor.
He lays me back on the bed and leans over me, his teeth dig into my lip before tugging at it.
I start to move my hips and rub my clit over his cock. He kisses me more urgently as a needy moan escapes me.
All I desire is to feel him within me. Our hands search for each other with desperate urgency, our kiss just as fevered.
“Arlo, please,” I breathe.
“Please what?” he growls against my skin, his voice rough. “What is it you need, ma lune?”
“You. Only you.”
His mouth finds my neck, leaving a searing, wet trail in its wake before his teeth graze that exquisite juncture of my neck and shoulder.
A moan escapes me, utterly unbidden, as I continue to rub my clit over his cock, the friction drawing a ragged groan from his throat.
“Fuck it.”
In one devastating motion, he sheathes himself inside me, filling me completely.
“Ophelia,” he groans, his forehead pressed to mine. “Damn, you feel... exquisite. So impossibly tight. You’re milking me perfectly.”
He begins to move, a rhythm of increasing force, then suddenly stills.
“Arlo,” I gasp, “please.”
His eyes lock on mine, filled with a devastating tenderness, as his cock twitches within me. He claims my mouth in another searing kiss before he slowly, torturously, withdraws, only to plunge back with a force that steals my breath.
He repeats the agonising, exquisite rhythm, over and over, until I am mindless with it, teetering on the very edge.
He breaks the kiss, his mouth trailing down to circle my nipple with his tongue, and the sensation is so acute I cry out.
Then, in a single, seamless motion, he withdraws and turns me onto my hands and knees.
