Page 38 of Surrender to Me
He lets me look, lets me touch, his breathing growing heavier as my hands map his skin. But when I reach for his waistband, he captures my wrists.
“Not yet.” His voice is strained. “Lie down on the bed.”
It’s not a request. It’s a command, delivered in an implacable tone. And just like that, my body responds before my brain can object.
I sink onto the mattress, suddenly hyperaware of how the sheets feel against my bare skin. He stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my pulse race.
“Close your eyes.”
The instruction catches me off guard. “What?”
“Close them. Do it for me.”
He doesn’t ask for much.
I do as he says, and immediately every other sense sharpens. I hear a faint rustling. Him removing his sweatpants?
The bed dips as he joins me, and I tense, waiting.
His hands are gentle when they touch me—one tracing the line of my collarbone, the other skimming along my ribs. I arch into the contact, craving more, but he keeps his touch light. Teasing.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “I wonder what other sounds I can pull from you.”
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, and he presses soft kisses there before moving lower. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“That’s it.” There’s growled approval in his words. “Let me hear you.”
He slides his hand lower, over my stomach, and I hold my breath as he traces the edge of my underwear. But then he moves upward again.
When he brushes over the locket, I freeze.
For a moment, his fingers still. I can feel him studying the pendant, and panic floods through me. What if he recognizes it? What if?—
But then he’s moving again, his touch shifting away from the locket to hook his fingers in the waistband of my panties. He draws them down slowly, and I lift my hips to help him.
“Open your eyes,” he says. “I want to see you when I touch you.”
I obey, and the heat in his gaze nearly undoes me. He’s naked now too, and the sight of him—all that powerful muscle and controlled strength—makes my mouth go dry.
He settles between my thighs, his hands spreading them wider, and I feel exposed in a way I’ve never experienced before. Not just physically, but emotionally. Like he’s seeing parts of me I’ve kept hidden from everyone, including myself.
When he touches me—really touches me—I gasp, my hips bucking against his hand. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh.
“Easy, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
And he does. His fingers work magic, finding spots I didn’t know existed, stroking and circling and building pressure until I’m writhing beneath him. When he slides two thick fingers deep inside me, I cry out, my hips bucking against his hand.
“Christ, you’re so fucking wet for me.” His voice is rough with hunger. “So tight. I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”
He pumps them slowly, deliberately, while his thumb finds my clit and begins a maddening rhythm that has me panting.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
When he curls his fingers inside me, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, I nearly come apart completely. But then he adds his mouth, his tongue replacing his thumb, and I’m lost.
“Fuck, Allie. You taste incredible.” His breath is hot against my sensitive flesh. “I could eat you all night.”
He licks me with broad, flat strokes before focusing on my clit, sucking and flicking with his tongue until I’m sobbing with need. His fingers never stop moving inside me, stretching me, preparing me, driving me higher and higher.
