Page 87 of Stolen Vows

“What are you saying, Francesca?”

I want him. Not just for this moment. Not just for tonight. I want every part of him. The husband, the protector, the man who watches.

I brush my lips against the corner of his mouth. “I’ve decided what kind of marriage I want.”

His tongue flicks my bottom lip. “Tell me, wife. Tell me what you want.”

I stare into Graham’s eyes, the heat in his gaze scorching me to my core. His hands flex on my thighs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles that make me shiver. I feel reckless, bold, drunk on the power of this moment.

“I want a real marriage.” The whispered confession jumps from my lips to his. Anticipation sparks under my skin, but I don’t want to take it back.

His grip tightens, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “Jesus, Francesca.”

I watch him, waiting. The moment teeters. Charged, undeniable, waiting to break. And I realize something.

I want him to break. I want to see what happens when Graham Carter stops holding himself back.

I nip at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with my tongue. “I prefer wife.”

29

GRAHAM

Something snaps in me,the last thread of my control fraying and giving way. With a low growl, I surge forward, capturing Francesca’s mouth in a bruising kiss. For half a second, I could stop this. I should stop this. But she makes a soft sound against my lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and any last shred of hesitation dissolves.

Her lips part on a moan, and I take advantage, my tongue delving inside to claim her.

Her fingers curl into my shoulders as she meets me stroke for stroke, give for give. It’s hot and slick and so damn good I see stars. I pull back just enough to see her, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Her lips are swollen, pink, parted. Waiting.

Fuck. She’s waiting for me.

I pull her flush against me, reveling in the way her soft curves melt into my harder planes. She fits. Like she was made for me.

She wants a real marriage? Sign me the fuck up.

My hands slide up her thighs to grip her hips, pulling her fully onto my lap so she’s straddling me. My cock jumps at the contact, the heat of her pussy pressing against me through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. Goddamn does that feel good.

Francesca breaks the kiss with a gasp, her head tipping back as I trail my lips down the column of her throat. I can feel her pulse hammering beneath my tongue and it only spurs me on, makes me want to unravel her completely.

“Graham,” she breathes, my name a plea on her lips. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping deliciously against my scalp.

I nip at her collarbone, soothing the sting with my tongue. “I’ve got you, sunshine. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

She shivers in my arms, a breathy moan escaping her lips as I suck a mark into the delicate skin of her throat. I want to mark her, claim her, make sure there’s no doubt in her mind or anyone else’s that she’s mine.

That tomorrow, when she looks in the mirror, she sees me all over her. That when she walks through town, through her bookstore, everyone else sees it too.

Mine to worship. Mine to pleasure. Mine to protect.

My goddamn wife.

I groan into her skin, my hands sliding under the thin material of her shorts to sink my thumbs into that sensitive crease at the top of her thighs. She gasps, tipping her head back and rolling against mine almost unconsciously. The need to touch her, taste her, have her in every way possible pounds against my temples.

“Graham,please.” Her voice is breathy, desperate as she grinds against my cock. “I think I—oh god, I think I’m going to come.”

It’s music to my fucking ears.

“Oh, sunshine,” I murmur with approval.

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