Page 118 of The Sweetest Revenge

"Don't you dare hold back," he whispered, his voice threaded with both command and plea. "Give it to me. Now."

My control shattered like glass.

My stomach muscles contracted, and my spine bowed. A tremor started in my thighs, spreading outward like ripples in water, gaining force with each wave. The ceiling tiles above me blurred, sharpened, and then disappeared completely as something inside me fractured.

When my lungs finally remembered their purpose, his name tore from them, a sound so raw it barely resembled language, echoing off the book spines surrounding us.

He withdrew his fingers, holding them in front of his face, glistening with my orgasm. "I love the sounds you make when you're coming." He brushed his them over his mouth before sucking them between his lips and licking them clean. I swallowed hard, the action so erotically hot. "I love the way you taste."

He hooked his hands under my knees and jerked me to the end of the table.

His hand moved slowly up my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His palm curved around my throat, large enough to encircle it completely.

For one heartbeat, he simply held me there.

His thumb found my pulse point, pressing gently, measuring my reaction.

Finding it racing.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, satisfied at my body's reaction.

With careful pressure, he pulled me forward, an inescapable force I couldn't, didn't want to resist.

When our faces were inches apart, he paused again. His breath mingled with mine. His eyes challenged me to close the final distance.

I remained still, trapped in the exquisite tension of anticipation.

His mouth captured mine, not the gentle exploration of earlier, but something savage. Suffocating. Messy. His fingers tightened fractionally around my throat, just enough to remind me of their presence. Of his control.

Our tongues tangled together, and oxygen became more of a luxury than a necessity.

I tore my lips from his, head falling back as I gasped desperately for air.

His eyes devoured my reaction, pupils so dilated they eclipsed color entirely.

"Take my dick like a good girl." His hips snapped forward, filling me with one pleasurably painful thrust, making me hiss. He stilled for a moment, a very brief moment, letting me adjust before he started fucking me in quick, brutal strokes. Pleasure built, and I moaned louder than I wanted to.

It felt so good, I didn't want it to end. He withdrew and slammed back into me. Each time more powerful than the last until my legs were trembling.

I was already so close.

He leaned forward, his hands flattening on the table, pressing his forehead to mine, our labored breathing mingling in the space between us.

"Come on my cock, baby," he ordered, and those words sent me over the edge.

"Zaiden." His name escaped my lips, not a moan or a whisper but something rawer. More revealing. A confession disguised as ecstasy.

With one final, almost brutal thrust, he followed me, and a shudder ran through him.

Each creak of the building, each distant sound of footsteps on the stairs, had heightened every sensation. Danger and pleasure had intertwined until they became a single entity.

But in this moment of shared vulnerability, another element revealed itself: the truth we'd both been circling since Kacie's death.

We needed each other.

Not just physically.

In every way that mattered.

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