Page 44 of Accidental Groom
Another smack lands, this time paired with his free hand knotting into my updo, sending pins scattering across the marble. He yanks, just enough to arch my back, just enough to force my eyes to the wide window across from us, Manhattan twinkling like a sea of stars and over-boiled hot dogs. My reflection stares back at me — flushed, wrecked, naked,desperate.
And him, towering behind me, all barely contained dominance, his eyes dark with need.
I arch deeper for him, hands braced against the counter, heart in my throat. His palm smooths over the curve of my rear before digging in hard enough to make me squeak, a moan spilling out behind it as he nudges my legs apart with his knee.
He leans over me, his hand leaving my rear only to find mine on the marble, fingers slotting tight between my own. He presses my palm flat down, holding me there, pinned — and his lips hover just beside my ear.
“Mine.”
That word, that single goddamn word, is enough to make my body go far too pliable for him.Mine.That, coming from him, feels like a bomb detonating.
The hand in my hair disappears, the other still holding tight to mine on the counter. His belt buckle tinks, leather slipping free. “Now keep still.”
I don’t have time to react.
Without warning, without stretching, warmth presses against my core andpushes.
One relentless thrust, and he shoves into me fully, a cry breaking past my lips as I struggle to accommodate him. My body clenches around the sudden, blissful intrusion, a sweat breaking out down my spine.
He squeezes my hand, barely perceptible, but it’sthere.
“Christ—” His voice fractures against my ear, his hips snapping forward again, driving me against the counter until the edge juts into my skin. A hand comes around the front of my throat, tilting my head back, keeping me arched. “Look at you—ah—taking me so easily. Like you were made for me.”
My head spins.Made for him.
His hand tightens over mine, his grip almost bruising as he sets a brutal pace, only hints of gentleness left in the unrestrained need he’s letting out. Each thrust steals my breath, each drag of him inside me winding me tighter, until I’m gasping, pleading, every nerve alight as he forces me to watch our reflection in the window.
His thumb sweeps over the back of my hand, a whisper of tenderness in the storm ofhim.
But then he’s pulling me back harder, faster, teeth sinking into my shoulder before he murmurs filthy bits of praise against my skin. “Feel like fuckingheaven, darling,” he growls, voice rough with restraint, like every roll of his hips is taking supreme effort to control.
He pulls almost all the way out just to sink back in with a slow, angled thrust that drags a whimper from deep in my chest. My knees tremble already, pressure building, my grip on the counter slipping — but his hand tightens over mine, locking me in place.
“None of that,” he murmurs, nipping the shell of my ear. “You don’t get to fall apart just yet.”
His free hand slides from my throat, down my chest, around to my side. Every drag of his digits across my skin feels likesin, intentional and greedy, and then he’s pulling me back from the counter just enough to slip that same hand around my front between my thighs. Fingers skim through damp heat, finding my clit so easily I nearly sob.
The sob that tears out of me is unholy as he presses down in slow, torturous circles, timing each one with his thrusts. My back bows, my hips rocking instinctively back into him, against him, seeking more, desperate for it?—
“Harry,” I whimper, and I canfeelhim shudder against me.
His answering groan is deep and guttural, like I’ve wrecked him just by saying his name. He shifts, just slightly, angling himself anew, andChrist, it sends a jolt of unfiltered pleasure through me. I choke on a gasp as he does it again, reading my body language, figuring me out — then does it again, and again, and again. Reckless. Uneven. Greedy. My nails scrape against the counter as I try to keep myself in place, my middle one chipping, but I don’tcare.
“You’re close,” he rasps, his voice barely recognizable. His fingers press harder, just enough to get a reaction, then keep pace with his hips. “I can feel you trembling around me.”
Iamtrembling. My thighs are shaking, every muscle drawing tight as pleasure coils tighter, winding me up until I’m gasping, barely able to breathe past the mounting pressure. The city blurs beyond the glass, my vision fracturing, my walls clenching around him?—
“Go on.” His teeth graze my shoulder again, taunting me, and the world begins to fracture. “Come.”
Everything shatters in a blur of sound and sensation, my release tearing a wail from me so loud it physically hurts my throat. My head drops forward onto the counter as the rest of my body locks up, pleasure surging through me in hot, pulsing waves, so intense I lose myself for a moment. His name is a broken moan on my lips, over and over, spilling out likeconfessions as my free hand reaches behind me for something solid to hold onto, digging into the jut of his hip.
But he doesn’t stop.
“Attagirl,” he says against my shoulder, and I canhearthe grin in his voice.
His fingers leave my clit just as the shock begins to calm, sliding back up to grip my hip, digging into the soft flesh there as he fucks me through the aftershocks — harder, unrestrained, sloppy, chasing his own release.
“Fuck—mine, mine?—”
