Page 16 of Accidental Groom
“Problem?” he asks, raising a single brow at me as I lock my arms around his neck to keep from tumbling out of his arms.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck instead of replying, my breath hitching as the scent of his cologne invades my senses again, etching itself into my memory in permanent marker. The stupid rose petals scatter beneath his steps as he crosses into the bedroom, and when he lays me down gently onto the mattress with his grip firm and his control deliberate, I can feel more of them pressing into my skin. He doesn’t bother to move them.
One trouser-covered knee braces itself beside my hip, his fingers starting to work at the buttons of his shirt as he stands over me.
I watch, my mouth going dry, each one popping free and exposing more of him — the column of his throat, the shadow of his collarbones, the dusting of silvered hair trailing down his muscled sternum.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble. Each motion is unhurried and intentional, like he wants me tofeelthe anticipation.
By the time the last one slips free, my skin is alight, my body boiling beneath his gaze.
He shucks his suit jacket and peels his dress shirt off with ease, letting them fall to the floor beside him.Christ,he’s built, all strong muscles and toned skin, and just as I think he’s about to move to his belt, he instead lowers his mouth to a space just beneath my collarbones, pressing a kiss to my sternum.
I swear I stop breathing.
“Lift,” he murmurs, his fingers gently hooking on the sides of my lace underwear.
A shudder rolls through me, but I raise my hips, letting him slide the last scrap of fabric down my thighs and off. The cool air tingles against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they return, tracing my curves like hewantsto — thumb skating over the inside of my knee, his palm smoothing up my thigh, his fingers brushing justthere, teasing me where I’m already slick.
“God, you’re perfect.”
The words are rough against my flesh as his mouth follows his hands, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, then my inner thigh. His teeth graze, just once, making me gasp, but then his tongue lashes out, soothing the sting before it even builds.
My head is spinning.
“Harry,” I whimper, but I’ve no idea what I actually want to say. My fingers tangle in the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to but unsure if I can reach for him, anchoring myself as his breath fans over the heat between my legs.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against my skin.
A ragged laugh escapes me.
My back arches the moment his lips brush between my thighs, his breath fanning out, and I have to remind myself tobreathe.
The first graze of his tongue is slow, learning, mapping.
The second, deliberate.
The third?—
Oh. Oh my god.
Practiced precision. That’s what it is. He laps at me like he’s devouring me whole, circling, stroking, lingering where my body responds the most, learning me and immediately applying that knowledge. It’sunfairhow easily he adapts.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimper, heat rising in my cheeks the moment it leaves my lips.
I canseethe smirk on his face between my thighs.
One hand grips the outside of my thigh, nails digging in just enough to make my breathing stutter. The other joins his mouth, his fingers teasing against my entrance before one slips in, and then another, stretching me, pressing against my insides, then curlingdeliberatelyexactly where it feels best, hitting a spot that makes my vision go fuzzy and my sounds turn to nonsense.
“Fuck, you moan so pretty,” he says, but the words are muffled against my damp skin. “Taste like a fucking dream.”
My eyes roll back in my head, my back arching, every breath, every stroke, every curl of his fingers sending me higher, higher,higher?—
“Come.”
One word. One stupid fucking command, and my body bends to his will like some kind of spell.
I don’t fight it, couldn’t even if I wanted to, and the orgasm crests, crashes, wringing a cry from my throat that I can barely hear through the ringing in my ears, my body shuddering beneath him.
