Page 45 of Taming Liberty

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his hips thrusting against my thigh. “I’ve waited too damn long for this not to do it right.”

He feverishly rubs my clit, and I grip his shoulders to keep myself from falling, feeling like my bones have turned to taffy.

“I miss the taste of your pussy.” Angel rubs faster. “Do you miss my mouth?”

“Yes,” I groan, my spine vibrating like someone’s playing pinball inside it. “God, please yes.”

He drops to his knees then lowers me until my toes touch the tile. His hands dig into the back of my thighs before he splays me open while bracing me against the wall.

He buries his face between my legs, my clit instantly aching with the pressure. I weave my fingers through his wet hair as I suck in ragged breaths.

He just got there, but I’m already close. Too close. When the pressure releases, I’m going to come down from a high that’ll leave me wasted, and I don’t want it to be like that.

This should just be sex, but it’s not. This is Angel, the sexy, if not evil, man I’m going to use to steal back my freedom. But he’s also the man I fantasized about for a year while touching myself with my eyes closed, pretending it was him. I built it up so much in my head, and Angel’s right, there’s been too much leading up to this not to make it perfect.

“I don’t want you to make me come,” I say, more like whine. He pulls back and looks up at me.

I shake my head. “Not with your mouth.”

He nods and eases me to the tile before hurrying to turn off the water. He must underestimate how worked up I am because I damn near lose my bearings and fall.

Once the water stops, I wipe my face and look down at the muddy floor. Most of it has washed off our bodies, but we’ll definitely need a real shower later.

Angel pushes open the shower door to grab a towel he uses to dry me off, then himself.

He tosses the towel to the floor and pushes a damp strand of hair off my shoulder, stepping close to me. He sighs as his eyes travel over me. “Every piece of you is so perfect.”

My heart—and let’s be honest, my head—swells, but before I can fully lock away the intimacy of the moment, Angel grabs my hips and yanks me up.

I wrap my legs around him and find his lips while he carries me out of the bathroom to his bed. He lays me down, climbing on top of me in the process, and he lines up at my entrance.

My hips stretch when I spread myself for him, caressing his face like I cherish him as much as he supposedly does me.

It isn’t an act.

None of thisis an act.

Does that mean I lost?

He breaks our kiss, touching his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my neck, my ear. “I’m going to make you happy, Lib. I promise.”

I close my eyes and try not to let his words crumble me. I want to tell him so badly that he could never make me happy. That it isn’t possible. But I can’t say it out loud because I still want him to try. I want him to take me hiking and cook me dinner and listen when I speak. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful and wanted andhis. I want him to do everything possible to fix this, even though I know he can’t.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t say any of this because he doesn’t give me the chance.

His cock fills me, and I tense, squeezing his shoulders and scrunching my face in pain. He isn’t rough about it, but it still feels uncomfortably large, expanding me more than my body’s ready for.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pausing.

I open my eyes and peer at him. His eyes dart around my face, searching for hesitation. So considerate, so concerned.

So … unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I could cry at the tenderness in his voice. Have I really been this starved of compassion?

When he pulls himself out of me, I dig my heels into his ass. “No, don’t stop. Just … go slow, okay?”

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