Page 31 of The Contract

But it’s the heat of him. He’s everywhere all at once. Pressing into the edges of me, filling the space between fear and want until I can’t tell them apart.

He’s impossibly bigger. Endless. Like there’s no space left for me at all.

Because he isn’t just looming anymore. He’s settling in. Taking up residence under my skin, to the point I can’t breathe.

When his mouth ghosts over mine, I taste him.

Taste the heat. The hunger. That whisper of desire I never asked for and can’t move an inch to resist.

His growl rumbles low in warning. In frustration…

The heat of his mouth drifts lower.

Down my neck.

Between my breasts.

Lower…

His groan curls against my skin. And the tremble that’s lived in my bones disappears the moment I feel heat against my panties.

One. Lick.

And that’s all it takes.

My back jerks off the bed, a helpless buck of instinct.

My fingers find his hair—thick, wild curls I grip for dear life.

Maybe in protest.

Maybe in pleasure.

Maybe just to stave off a dark need rising to the surface. Stretch out the moment that much longer. Delay the fall.

But then, he stops.

Freezes.

And I do the unthinkable.

My grip eases.

But instead of pushing him away…I stroke through his thick curls.

Slow. Gentle.

Sinking into the feel of him.

Of this.

The next thick glide of his tongue hits me with the force of ten Mack trucks.

Oh, God…

The way he licks me, not soft, not sweet, but like he owns me. Ravishes me like creamy vanilla ice cream on the hottest summer day—slow, messy, greedy strokes.

A moan rips from my throat, followed by another.

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