Page 122 of Stolen Vows

His gaze collides with mine, blazing with such feral possession that my breath catches in my throat. Those hazel depths burn into me, twin flames of passion and possession, searing me to my very soul.

I run my hands soothingly over his sweat-slicked back, feeling the play of powerful muscles beneath my palms.

Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of me. I let out a soft whimper at the loss, my body clenching around the sudden emptiness. But the sensation is short-lived. His fingers immediately return to the slick juncture of my thighs, gently pushing the evidence of his pleasure back inside me. I gasp when he curls his fingers again, hitting that secret spot effortlessly.

And when he leans down and sucks my clit into his mouth, I nearly come undone right then and there. My back arches off the bed, pressing my aching core harder against his expert mouth. His tongue swirls and flicks, sending sparks of electric pleasure zinging through my veins.

“Please,” I whimper, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him right where I need him most.

“Please what?” He growls against my sensitive flesh, the vibrations only adding to the intense sensations consuming me.

“Please make me come.” It’s a whispered plea, my eyes squeezed shut as I reach for that bliss.

He drags the blunt edge of his teeth against me, but it’s not where I need it. “Say it, sunshine.”

My neck rolls from one side to the other, my focus growing hazier by the second. I’m climbing higher and higher, teetering on the razor’s edge of release. I’m close enough that I can almost reach it.

“Francesca.”

It’s the familiar tone that drags me back, parts the clouds of lust long enough for me to say it.

“Make me come,husband.”

He hums his satisfaction. “It’d be my pleasure,wife.”

Then he sucks hard, grazing my clit with his teeth. And that’s all it takes. I’m flying high, higher than I’ve ever been before, and I don’t know if I’ll ever come down.

I don’t know if I want to.

42

FRANCESCA

I wakeup in a bed that isn’t mine.

For a few seconds, I hover in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, my body heavy, my mind sluggish. The sheets are softer than mine, the mattress firmer, the scent completely unfamiliar—cedar, clean soap, something distinctly Graham.

I reach out instinctively, searching for the warmth of him, but the space beside me is empty. Awareness creeps in, slow and steady, and then the memories rush back in a flood.

Graham. His hands, his mouth, his cock. The way he touched me like he was committing every inch of me to memory. The way he cleaned me up after, his touch so tender it made my throat tighten. The gentle press of his lips against my temple before tucking me beneath the covers, his voice a low murmur as he told me to sleep.

I don’t even remember him getting in bed beside me, but I must have fallen asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

I blink against the low glow of the bedside lamp, the house silent save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Where did he go?

Pushing up on one elbow, I rub my eyes before scanning the dark room. His bedroom is neat, purposeful, everything in its place. The only hint of our earlier chaos is the trail of my clothes across the floor, tangled with his discarded henley.

I hesitate for half a second before reaching for it.

The fabric is soft and way too big, hanging off one shoulder when I pull it over my head. But it smells like him, and that makes something warm bloom low in my belly. I tug on my sleep shorts next, running a hand through my hair before padding barefoot out of the bedroom.

I pause in the hallway, straining my hearing for any signs of distress from Romeo, but all I can hear is the low hum of the white noise machine. A soft yellow glow spills from the cracked door of Graham’s office.

I follow the light.

I push open the door, pausing at the threshold. He’s exactly where I expected him to be. At his desk, completely locked in, the cold glow from his monitors casting sharp shadows over his face. His fingers fly over the keyboard, his jaw tense, brows furrowed in concentration.

I rap my knuckles on the doorframe, and his fingers freeze for a second. “Can I come in?”

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