Page 90 of Fragile Sanctuary

“You keep moving like that, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

I stilled, swallowing hard. “What if I want a problem?”

Anson’s fingers halted their absent swirling. “Such a temptress.” His hips rolled, pressing into me from behind, his dick nestling between my ass cheeks. “Fuck.”

My breaths came quicker, one after the other in a tempo like sending some sort of Morse code message.

His fingers slipped lower, beneath the fabric of my nightgown, trailing up my thigh. He traced the mottled skin of my scars. Most guys I’d dated had avoided them, not knowing what to say or do, but not Anson. His fingers moved over the raised flesh as if he were memorizing it.

“So fucking strong. Beautiful. Brave.”

His words hit like tiny, beautiful barbs, embedding themselves in my skin. But they were also dangerous, making me want to reach for more with a man I wasn’t sure could give it.

Anson’s fingers skimmed higher, and my lips parted. “Been dreaming of your taste for the last twenty-four hours. Want to drown in it. To burn it into me so it’s all I have on my tongue.”

This time, I whimpered. I was too wrapped up in need to care that it gave me away.

“Gonna give me that taste, Reckless?” His fingers hovered just shy of where I wanted him the most.

“Yes,” I breathed.

Anson closed the distance, but his fingers stilled at the apex of my thighs. “No fuckin’ panties?”

The smallest giggle slipped free. “I don’t wear underwear to bed.”

Anson moved in a flash, his hands going to my hips. He hauled me up and over him until my legs straddled his shoulders. “Grab the headboard.”

“Anson,” I squeaked.

“My reckless girl,” he growled. “Been dying for this. Now, grab the headboard and ride my face.”

My heart skittered and skipped, each beat tumbling over into the next as I gripped the white, wrought iron headboard.

Anson gripped my hips, slowly lowering me to him. Each millimeter twisted every fiber inside me tighter, a rope being spun in circles until it was twisted so tight it might fray in an explosion of need.

His tongue flicked out, barely teasing my flesh, but the groan Anson let loose sent vibrations sweeping through me. That rope twisted tighter, desperate for more, for relief, forhim.

“Killing me, Reckless.” Anson’s fingers dug into my hips, pulling me down more.

His tongue teased and toyed, circling the places I needed him the most. My hands gripped the headboard tighter, the metal details biting into my palms. The tip of his tongue grazed my clit, and I couldn’t help the whimper that left my lips.

Anson’s fingers on my hips tightened to the point where I thought they might leave bruises. But something about that had more heat flushing through me—the thought of Anson leaving his mark on me.

“Need more?” Anson growled.

“Yes.” The word tumbled out without restraint.

There was no pretense or warning. Anson’s tongue drove into me, and I cried out. God, it was heaven. Yet hell, too. Because I wantedmore. Wanted to know what it would feel like to have all of him.

Anson filling me, stretching me. Taking me over and over.

His tongue curled, and my mouth fell open on a gasp.

He swirled it inside me, and my thighs started to tremble. Each swipe and circle drove me into mountaintop highs and valley lows. My hips moved with him, riding each high and low as if I could read his mind.

Anson’s tongue disappeared, replaced by his hand. But his mouth wasn’t gone for long. That dangerous tongue circled my clit as his fingers pumped in and out of me. But it wasn’t enough. It was a torturous game of almost.

“Please,” I begged.

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