Page 7 of Surrendered Hearts

“I remember exactly how you like me to fuck you, Emilia,” he says, circling his finger over my clit and uttering words my heart wants more of.

I want to tell him to stop.

I also want to tell him to never ever stop.

I’m so screwed.

He runs his fingers through the wetness I can’t hide from him, no matter how much I want to. “Do you want me inside you?”

No.

Never.

Yes.

“No.” I place my hand over his on my waist and attempt to pry his fingers from me. “I want you to stop what you’re doing.”

His strength is no match for mine. I’m unable to force him away. Instead, I only succeed in encouraging him to hold me harder against him. “You don’t want me to stop. You want this,” he says before pushing two fingers inside me.

My legs go weak as he builds my pleasure.

As he chases my fall.

“I don’t,” I manage to grit out.

He reaches deeper inside me. “Stop fighting me.”

“I will never stop fighting you.”

“And yet, here you are, in my arms, fucking dripping for me.”

Deeper, deeper, deeper.

His fingers are far too good at what they’re doing.

My head falls against his shoulder and my back arches as the bliss becomes too much.

“You will be my wife in all the ways I demand. Say it.”

“No.”

He withdraws his fingers and I want to beg for them back, but I will never beg this man for a thing.

“Say it.” His tone turns darker.

“No. I refuse to say it and I refuse to agree to it.”

He moves before I realize what’s happening, taking me with him to the sofa. Bending me over the back of it, he presses his erection against my ass while curling a hand around my neck. I curse the fact I like his dominance so damn much.

“I would prefer not to drag this out,” he rasps. “But if I have to, I will.”

“You’ll be dragging it out for life, then.”

His fingers dig into my skin harder as he pushes my dress up with his free hand. “Do you still like to be fucked here?” he asks, running his finger over the crack of my ass through my panties.

Again, I want to beg him for those fingers, right where he has them, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I’m not doing this with you, Javier.”

“You might think that, but I don’t see you fighting me off, and I sure as fuck don’t hear you telling me to let you go.”

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