Page 117 of Stolen Vows

His gaze rakes over my exposed flesh, raw hunger etched into every line of his face. “Spread your legs for me, Francesca.”

A shiver rolls through me at the command in his tone, at the way my name rumbles from his lips like a prayer and a curse. I part my thighs, baring myself to him completely. Cool air kisses my heated core, and I fight the instinct to close my legs, to hide from the intensity of his stare.

But there’s no judgement in his eyes, only reverence and desire so potent it steals my breath.

“Goddamn,” he curses under his breath.

He settles between my spread thighs, his hands braced on either side of my hips. I feel the warmth of his breath against my inner thigh a moment before his lips press a soft kiss there. My breath hitches, my fingers curling into the sheets beneath me.

“So soft,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly with want. “So perfect.”

He trails open-mouthed kisses up the inside of my thigh, getting closer and closer to where I need him most. My heart pounds against my ribs, anticipation and desire twisting together inside of me.

“So mine.” He places a kiss over my clit.

“Graham,” I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed at the intimate touch. His lips curve into a smile against my pussy before he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up my slit.

“Oh god,” I whimper, my head falling back against the pillows as pleasure sparks through me.

He hums, the vibrations making me shudder. Then he’s licking into me again, his tongue circling my clit, lapping at my arousal. He takes his time, learning what makes me twitch and moan, what has my thighs trembling and my fingers clenching around his hair.

His tongue delves inside me, thrusting and curling, stoking the fire building low in my belly. He fucks me with his mouth, his lips and teeth and tongue driving me higher, winding me tighter. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me, my thighs quivering, my breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

“Graham, please,” I moan brokenly, my nails digging into his scalp. I’m so close, teetering right on the knife’s edge of release. I just need a little more, just a little deeper.

He groans against my flesh, the sound vibrating through me. Then he seals his lips around my clit and sucks, hard. At the same time, two of his fingers thrust into me, curling to hit that spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

It’s too much, the dual sensations catapulting me over the edge. I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me, my back arching off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head. Wave after wave of pleasure wracks through me, stealing my breath and blanking my mind of everything but him.

He works me through it, his fingers pumping slowly as his tongue laps at my clit, drawing out every last shudder and whimper until I collapse back against the bed, boneless and sated. Only then does he pull back, pressing a final soft kiss to my inner thigh before crawling up my body.

“Fuck, you taste incredible,” he rasps, his voice raw and gravelly. “I could feast on this pussy for hours.”

It’s a premonition, a carnal promise. It fuels me, building me back up. He settles his weight over me and I arch up toward him, capturing his mouth in a hot kiss. He groans into my mouth, his tongue delving deep to tangle with mine. I can taste myself on him, and it only fuels the desire burning through my veins. My hands roam over his back, nails scraping lightly, mapping the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.

Why is he still wearing a shirt?

I tug at the hem insistently. “Off,” I mumble against his lips. “I want to feel you.”

He breaks the kiss with a low chuckle, leaning back just enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. My hands immediately go to his chest, my palms skimming over the defined ridges of his abs, the colorful pattern of his tattoos, the dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach. He’s beautiful, all hard lines and coiled power.

And he’s mine.

The thought sends a possessive thrill through me. I want to touch every inch of him, map his body with my hands and mouth until I know him better than my own.

My fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the head of his cock. I brush my fingertips over the metal barbell, and he inhales sharply, his abs flexing beneath my touch.

“Francesca,” he grits out, his voice strained.

I hear the warning layered into my name, and I decide to take it as a challenge. I wrap my hand around him, dragging the pad of my thumb along the underside of his cock.

A low grunt rumbles from his chest as I stroke him slowly, teasing the sensitive underside of his shaft. His hips rock into my touch, seeking more friction.

“If you keep doing that, sunshine, this is going to be over too fast. And I don’t want to come in my pants again.”

I grin up at him, feeling emboldened by the effect I have on him. “I’m going to need details of that.”

“Details,” he repeats, distracted.

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