Page 53 of Undisputed Chaos
“Someone’s high on me already, hmm?”
Then, as if he couldn’t help it, he leaned in, nipped the edge of my jaw, and whispered, “Let’s get you hydrated, and then I’ll show you what happens to good girls brave enough to open the door for me.”
He herded me to my fridge, not bothering with personal space, crowding me with every predatory inch of himself. “Kitchen, pretty girl. I need you prepped for marathon mode.”
His big hand anchored in the small of my back, heat rolling off him in waves.
The apartment shrank, blurred at the edges, a world reduced to Adrian’s presence shadowing me closely.
His fingers grazed the top of my ass, making my insides coil even tighter with need.
He popped open the fridge with one hand, pulled out a juice box, and glanced at me over his shoulder.
“So these are the famous Crew juice boxes.” He waggled a straw at me, low and teasing. “Apple or lemonade?”
I couldn’t stop giggling, couldn’t stop trembling. “Apple,” I squeaked, not trusting myself for anything more eloquent.
“Good choice.” He stabbed the straw in and handed it over. “Drink. I want you nice and hydrated.”
He watched as if entranced as I drank, fully crowding me against the counter, hand caging my waist.
Every swallow, his eyes tracked my throat like he wanted to rip the ribbon away and mark me properly, again and again.
“The faster you drink, the faster I get to ruin you,” he murmured, palms bracketing my hips now, thumbs stroking the plush curve right above my thighs.
I drank, throat bobbing, and his thumb traced the ribbon possessively.
Somehow, the air thickened even more, oxygen sticky with tension and the promise of everything I’d been aching for since that first night.
He licked his lips slowly, already taking me in.
“That’s my girl. Hydrated and obedient. You’re going to last through everything I put you through tonight.”
I finished the juice, nearly breathless, and he took the empty box, setting it aside without looking away.
“I want you,” I managed.
He inhaled like he wanted to drag me straight into his lungs. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, angel. I get started and I don’t wanna fucking stop.”
He dragged his nose along my jaw. “You’re soft everywhere; I want teeth marks, finger dents, sweat running down these perfect curves. I want you to remember my hands every time you shift in your chair tomorrow.”
His hand cupped the undercurve of my ass, squeezing until I squirmed, helpless to stop the needy sound pressing out of me.
“You’re killing me,” I whispered.
“No, angel,” he crooned, lips ghosting my earlobe, “I’m keeping youalive. You ever pass out from too many orgasms? I want to dothat to you. I’m gonna have you begging for breaks and then for more.”
He meant every word, laughing as he kissed me, frantic and rough. His hands framed my waist, gripping at every inch of my softness like it belonged only to him, like he was savoring a meal.
He lifted me, easy, like my body was made for his hands alone, and the marble counter was suddenly cold against my bare thighs.
His breath coiled heat on my neck. “God, Isla, all these curves… What am I supposed to do but mark every single inch?” He said it like a blessing, tracing the dip of my waist out to the line of my thigh.
He knelt, a man so dangerous down at my feet, palms on my knees, pushing slowly until my legs spilled open for him.
My heart was thundering in my ears, and my panties were Niagara Falls.
“You like being watched, yeah?” His tone, all dirty-knowing and proud, made me wetter.
