Page 153 of Blind Prophet

My heart practically stops, then races to catch up. For a moment, I can’t move, can’t speak—the sight of him standing there hits me with startling intensity.

His hair is slightly ruffled, and there’s a hint of shadow below his eyes, which I’m not surprised by, given the hoops he’s jumped through this week. He’s in jeans, a button-down, and sneakers that fit with a suit, the kind that are all the rage with the tech world these days. He’s gorgeous, but it’s the heat in his eyes, a raw hunger, that has me entranced. His gaze tracks from my face, down my body, and to the robe fallen open to my sides.

“That’s what you wear to open the door?”

His near growl amps up the tension to a tangible, viscous level.

He steps forward, and I step back. He wheels in a large suitcase and kicks the door shut.

“Fuck, Cara.” He grabs me and pulls me against him, pressing his lips to mine, his tongue in my mouth, ravenous. His hands slide over my back, gliding over the silk, and lower, around my curves, until he can go no lower.

He breaks the kiss, sucking in air, his fingers tugging at the hem.

“Take it off.”

My fingers toy with his collar as I eye the buttons on his shirt, equally breathless, skin vibrating, thighs shaky.

“Take it off, Cara. Now.”

Eyes locked on him, I lift the chemise over my body and let it drop to the floor. I step out of my fuzzy slippers, backing away toward the bedroom.

“It’s been a week. I’ve been away from you for a week. And you open the door like this.”

He follows, his steps faster, crazed with lust. It’s a look I haven’t seen from him in a long time. Stripping off his shirt, he stalks forward until the backs of my thighs hit the mattress.

“Off,” he says again, and his gaze drops to my lace panties. He toes off his shoes, and his jeans and briefs drop to the floor.

I expect him to kiss me again, but he stands there, soaking me in, his fingers around his thick, hard shaft, stroking.

“That’s better. I can see you now. And my god, you are exquisite.”

And then he’s on me, desperate, like a starving man. His hands cup my bottom, and he lifts me up. My legs spread, welcoming him. His finger swipes my seam, and he sucks his skin.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

I love this side of Dorian. The unleashed, uncontrolled side.

And then he’s over me, pushing in. I revel in the shock, the ecstasy.

“Tell me again.”

He thrusts, filling me with him, with love, with life.

“Tell me.” His low growl vibrates near my ear.

“What?” I gasp, my fingers clawing at his back.

“You love me.”

“I do. I love you so much.”

And then, I lose the ability to speak. To breathe.

His movements, his words, just him.

“So beautiful. Made for me.”

“Yes.” It’s all I can get out.

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