Page 11 of Secret Surrender (Harlow)

So, she watched as his hand swept to her knee, pushing her open.

He watched her too, watched her there, completely exposed, before his rapt attention snapped to hers. Her body responded with instant heat, melting her muscles into surrendering some more. He seemed to notice and crept lower, so that his lips made fast contact with her inner thigh.

She arched at the rousing sensation, each kiss traveling higher until he met the juncture of her sex, his kiss soon shifting to an unabashed brush of his tongue, his long fingers meeting with the center of her tummy.

He held her still and held her gaze, demanding she feel every changing touch he unleashed upon her body—soft and hard, fast and unhurried—the stroke of his thumb at her bud bringing her to a climbing pant. Something about his quiet approach suggested that he derived pleasure from her pleasure, that he gauged her reaction and adjusted his touch until she clawed at the bedsheets and rewarded his patience with her fast unraveling.

He used his elbows to pin her open, a subtle gesture for her to relax and surrender some more—surrender an alien concept to her, but one she tried, anyway.

One look at this beautiful stranger sent an electrified prickle through her body. All that power, and muscle, and a good dose of mystery. He clearly wouldn’t give up until she followed where he led.

One moan after another wrenched free of her throat, his equal parts challenge and restraint allowing room for her to feel—to express the pleasure she often held close. She would not see him after tonight. What did she have to lose from exploring? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

So, she begged for more, when she never begged for anything—and the more she gave in, the more he gave, too. As though he knew. As though he saw that she wasn’t the type to yield, while for once, she could be more herself than she’d ever been.

She focused on what he did to her. The pressure of his touch. A pressure that grew until she groaned from the overpowering assault on her senses; all the while, he held her open and vulnerable, undoing her with every caress until a shuddering climax took her over.

Excitement swept the air from her lungs, forcing her to gasp for her next breaths, the soft clinking of his belt reminding her that he wasn’t done. He was hard and ready, and he slid on a condom before quickly entering her in one long and confident stroke.

She arched and savored the tension and the heat, the undeniable connection, despite his newness to her. His cobalt stare refused to let her go—so intense, so direct—his hands clasping at her outer thighs, while he wrapped her legs around his waist. “You have amazing legs.”

She opened her mouth to offer some self-critical reply, but he thrust into her again, burying himself deep and stealing her words. The feel of him, the explosion of each passionate thrust igniting her every sensitive nerve, rushed her second climax out to the open.

He answered her arousal with increased speed, capturing each of her moans with his mouth and releasing a few of his own satisfied sounds. With each passing second, his thrusts grew harder and wilder, her fingers digging instinctively into the heat of his shoulders before he swelled within her.

Eventually, the fever cooled, and he released her legs from his waist. Though he remained inside her, his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of her head, and he bent to kiss her again. “I guess this is where I’m supposed to leave?”

The upward curve to his lips held an air of hope. He didn’t want to leave.

She pressed her hands to his face and pulled him in for another kiss, only releasing him long enough to say, “Oh no, our night’s only just starting.”

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