Page 104 of Riot

I nodded, then found my voice. "I've never been more sure of anything."

I couldn’t believe this was about to happen. But I was so happy that it was happening with him.

He crossed to me in two long strides, cupping my face in his massive hands. His touch was reverent, like I was made of something precious and rare. When his lips met mine, the kiss wasn't hurried. It was deep, thorough, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my knees weak.

I melted against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the solid wall of him anchoring me. My hands found the hem ofhis shirt, tugging upward, desperate to feel skin against skin. He broke our kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, revealing that magnificent chest covered in ink that told stories I was still learning to read.

"Your turn," he murmured, fingers finding the buttons of my blouse.

One by one, he undid them, his gaze never leaving mine. With each inch of skin revealed, his breathing grew heavier, more labored. When my shirt fell open, his eyes dropped to my lace-covered breasts, and the hunger I saw there made me feel powerful in ways I never had before. His touch made me forget the fight I had with Irina. It made me forget my fears of Boaz. I knew that I was protected under his gaze and never needed to be anywhere else.

"Goddamn," he whispered, reverence in his voice as he slid the fabric from my shoulders.

His hands were everywhere then, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, the swell of my breasts. When he unhooked my bra, letting it fall between us, I resisted the urge to cover myself. Instead, I stood tall, letting him look his fill, watching his pupils dilate with desire.

"You're perfect," he breathed, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

The sensation was electric, shooting straight between my thighs. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders for support as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other. His tongue circled, teased, his teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper.

We moved toward the bed in a slow dance, shedding the rest of our clothes along the way. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I let myself fall, watching as Riot stood over me, gloriously naked, his dick standing proud and thick between his muscular thighs.

I swallowed hard at the sight. He was massive everywhere, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered through me. He must have seen it in my eyes because he lowered himself beside me, not on top of me, his hand gentle as it stroked my cheek.

"We go slow," he promised. "And we stop whenever you want. No questions asked."

The tenderness in his voice brought tears to my eyes. This man, who could break bodies with his bare hands, who carried violence in his blood like others carried oxygen, he was being so careful with me, so gentle.

"I trust you," I whispered, and I meant it.

His mouth found mine again as his hand began a slow journey down my body, tracing patterns on my skin that left fire in their wake. When his fingers slipped between my thighs, finding the slick heat there, we both moaned.

"Damn, baby," he growled against my lips. "You're so wet for me."

His fingers explored me with exquisite patience, circling my most sensitive spot until my hips were rising off the bed, seeking more. When he slid one thick finger inside me, I gasped at the intrusion, the fullness.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Feel good?"

Usually when he ate my pussy, he avoided penetrating me but I had been craving it more and more.

"Yes," I breathed, my head falling back as he worked me slowly, adding a second finger when my body relaxed enough to take it. There was pressure but no pain.

He took his time, opening me up with careful attention, his mouth traveling down my neck, across my collarbone, back to my breasts. By the time he positioned himself between my thighs, I was a quivering mess of need, my body pulsating with sweat and desire.

"Please," I begged, past pride, past hesitation. "I need you inside me."

Riot reached for the nightstand, retrieving a condom. I watched, mesmerized, as he rolled it down his considerable length. Then he was above me, supporting his weight on his forearms, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. When our eyes locked, he continued, "I need to see you. Need to know you're with me."

I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. As he began to push inside, the stretch was intense, bordering on uncomfortable. I tensed involuntarily, and he froze immediately.

"Breathe, baby," he murmured, dropping kisses across my face. "Just breathe with me."

I did as he asked, syncing my breathing with his, feeling my body relax by degrees. He pushed forward again, more insistent this time, and I felt the moment when the barrier of my innocence gave way. A sharp pain made me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"I got you," he whispered, holding perfectly still, letting me adjust to his size. "I got you, Allure."

The pain subsided gradually, replaced by a fullness that was foreign but increasingly welcome. When I shifted my hips experimentally, pleasure sparked through me, making me moan.

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