Page 168 of Chandelier Enthralled
“Ten.”
“Ten what?”
“Ten orgasms. You earned your way in. You also have to earn your way out.” With that, he lifted my thighs and flung them on either side of the armrests, exposing me completely to him.
How was this even possible?
Standing, he unzipped his pants and with one thrust, he buried himself deep inside of me. “Any man who comes near you gets burned.”
“That’s not true.”
“We both know that it is.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the truth of it.
“That’s why they cower,” he said.
I breathed. “What about you?”
“Never. I’ll match your fire.”
His animal magnetism mingled with his rich cologne, his thrusts deep and fierce, bringing a new surge of pleasure.
I was being driven near to madness from the thrill of his pounding, the spectacular rhythm of his hips, the slapping of our bodies echoing around us, bringing the sweet pang of absolution, as all guilt and uncertainty left me. Our sweat and juices mingled—we were slick with my arousal.
“You’re a filthy girl,” he said, tautness in his throat.
“It feels…” I couldn’t finish that sentence, trying to comprehend this kind of passion existed and I might never have experienced it.
“You feel so damn good, Willa.”
“My cunt is yours,” I said, breathless.
“Yes, it is.” The exquisite bite of his sharp words thrilled me.
He grabbed a lock of my hair and pressed his mouth to mine, biting my lip and then devouring me, savaging my tongue as he sucked and searched, our mouths belonging to each other, as though we had always been destined to be this.
He pounded me into oblivion.
A strange liberation, a paradox where pain unfurled into pleasure, and within that tangled embrace, I was whole, the fractured pieces glinting like glass under a soft, forgiving light.
I found a rare solace as he pinched my left nipple and I was caught in his grip, the tug on my hair matching the tug on the pink flesh as he twisted my areola.
The lines between us were blurred, as though we were really one, bleeding into each other, as I surrendered to the haze.
I came again, in a fit of bliss and fury, struggling against his fucking, my moans growing louder. “Greyson.”
“Come,” he demanded, and for him, I did, and it was glorious.
Because we came together.
He stiffened his back as he emptied inside of me, his body shuddering, his heat welcomed by my channel as it clutched him possessively. We were like one of his creations, only more sacred, having designed our own hallowed space, both of us lost and found, as though time itself had bent to welcome our hearts.
“For you,” I screamed, climaxing again, forgetting the other words I had been ordered to say.
Spacing out, I forgot what day it was—what time—as my mind replayed the hours I had spent with Greyson in that secret room yesterday…the Obsidian Suite. I shuddered as though he had reached over the miles and was touching me, making me feel all those things again, my first time experiencing true passion.
Was this what addiction felt like?
