Page 61 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
I scream for him.
For this.
For the brutal, beautiful way he takes me apart and doesn’t let me hide from it.
And still he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going, licking into me, sucking every last broken sound from my lips, until I’m a ruined, whimpering mess on the rug, clawing at his shoulders,babbling his name like a prayer.
When he finally lifts his head, his face is wet with my juices, his mouth swollen, his eyes pure molten gold.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—slow, deliberate—and growls, “Not done with you, yet. Barely started.”
Then he grabs my hips, flips me onto my stomach in one brutal, effortless movement, and drags me up onto my knees.
Before I can catch my breath, the thick, hot head of his cock presses against my soaked, trembling entrance. And with one savage thrust—one devastating, claiming push—Dominic drives back inside me.
Hard.
Deep.
Home.
Dominic doesn’t give me a chance to adjust.
He plunges into me in one hard, punishing stroke, forcing a broken cry from my throat as my body clamps down around the brutal stretch of him.
There’s no patience. No mercy. Only raw, desperate hunger.
He growls low in his chest—a vicious, territorial sound—as he buries himself to the hilt, his hands clamping down on me with bruising force.
One at my hip, fingers digging deep into my skin, holding me there, owning me—the other fisting in my hair, yanking my head back until my spine bows and my mouth falls open on a ragged, shuddering gasp.
The position leaves me completely helpless, utterly at his mercy, spine arched, breasts bared to the hungry, burning gaze he drags down my body.
I feel the weight of that look.
The possession in it.
The feral promise that he’s not stopping until I belong to him in every possible way.
Dominic’s grip tightens in my hair, a rough, savage tether, and he surges forward—hips snapping hard enough to shove me across the thick fur rug.
A guttural noise rips from his throat, half curse, half prayer, as he thrusts again.
And again.
And again.
Each brutal stroke slams into the deepest, most sensitive part of me, sending sparks exploding behind my eyes, stealing the breath from my lungs.
My hands claw at the rug, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. But there’s nothing.
There’s only him.
Only the overwhelming force of his body pounding into mine.
Only the savage pull of his hand fisted in my hair, keeping me locked tight against him, unable to run, unable to hide.
