Page 172 of Love Me Stalk Me
She shudders.
I drag my lips over the shell of her ear, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer, holding her exactly where I want her. "Since the firstday I saw you in that steakhouse."
She freezes.
Her breath catches. "What?"
My fingers tighten against her waist. "That night was the first time I saw you. Watching some douchebag say words that made you look sad. And I knew—" I drag my nose along her jaw, inhaling her scent, letting myself feel her softness against me. "I knew you'd be mine."
“You knew back then?”
I nod. "Didn't know you yet. Just knew that I would."
She stares at me, realization dawning in her expression. She takes my hands in hers, lifting them, guiding them. Then, slowly she presses them down, right over her sweatpants. My thumbs hook into her panties, and then she's pushing my hands lower, and I'm pulling the material off her body, peeling it down her thighs, down her legs, down until she's completely bare beneath me.
I pull back, just enough to see her.
She’s a goddamn vision. All soft skin and curves begging to be marked, heat rolling off her in a way that dares me to take. She was made for this—for me.
But she doesn't see it.
Not yet.
Instead of owning the moment, owning her beauty, owning the way my eyes can't stop drinking her in, she hesitates. Her body tenses, shoulders curling inward, thighs pressing slightly together, like she's waiting.
For judgment.
For rejection.
Like she doesn't realize that I would get on my knees and worship every inch of her if she let me.
My chest tightens, possessiveness curling inside me.
She should know.
She should fucking know.
I part my lips, ready to tell her exactly that, ready to tell her she's the sexiest fucking woman I've ever laid eyes on, that she has no idea how much I want her, how much I want to devour her.
But then she makes a sound. A tiny, soft little whimper, and my restraint snaps.
I move without thinking. I slide my hands down her thighs, gripping them firmly, feeling the heat of her skin beneath my fingers. I spread her apart, watching her reaction—the gasp, the quiver of her lower lip, the tremor that runs through her body.
She’s gorgeous likethis.
Spread out.
Exposed.
Mine.
She looks up at me. Her pupils are wide, chest rising and falling rapidly, hands gripping the couch cushions. I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening against her thighs, keeping her still. "Lie back for me, pretty girl."
Her breath shudders, but she listens. She lets me move her, lets me guide her, lets me position her exactly how I want her.
I dive in. The first swipe of my tongue against her slick heat has her hips jerking up, thighs trembling in my grip. Her breath stutters and I feel the tremor of it all the way through her. I growl against her skin, my hands tightening around her soft, curvy thighs. She's writhing beneath me, and I’m going to give her exactly what she wants.
She's mine to devour.
