Page 139 of The Colour of Revenge
I shake my head. “There’s no way. He’s bluffing, baby.”
She sucks in a breath. “What if he’s not?”
“He is.”He has to be.
My gaze drops back to her bruised skin, to the thick scars on her thighs. My fists clench, my vision darkens, my rage burns hot enough to incinerate this entire fucking hotel.
Carina’s small voice cracking steals my focus. "Please," she whispers, raw with the weight of her emotions. "I can't... I can't talk about it. Not now. Please."
Her hands cup my face, pulling my gaze away from the bruises that scream her pain and into her striking blue eyes. They're glossy with unshed tears, yet there's something else in them-desperation, need, a plea I don't know how to answer.
Her hands trail down my chest, fingers skimming over my abs before fumbling with the buckle of my belt. But I catch them, stilling her movements, and gently move them aside.
Fuck.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur.
I release her hand and undo my belt myself, my fingers working with slow, deliberate precision.
Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
Those eyes, hazy with longing, lock onto mine, full of trust, of something unspoken.
I free myself, but my body isn't entirely in this yet. Not when the image of her bruises is still burned into my mind.
But she touches me. A delicate, reverent stroke. And the feel of her hand, her warmth, her need—shatters the last of my hesitation.
She spreads her legs, offering herself to me.
And I cave.
“This will have to be quick, Princess. We’ve already been in here too long,” I apologise. I’ll worship her properly once I have her back for good.
“I know. So, hurry up.”
I move her lacy thong to the side and waste no more time. I push into her, her tight heat wrapping around me like a glove, her body gripping me like she's just as starved for this as I am.
“Jesus fucking—” I choke out, drowning in the feel of her.
“Nate. Fuck.”
She's so wet I glide in and out with ease, her body welcoming me like I'm something she's been craving for far too long.
It doesn't take long before my control starts to unravel. But I won't let go until she does.
I reach between us, fingers finding her clit, rubbing soft, devastating circles.
Her head throws back, her body bowing, her walls tightening around me as she falls apart with a strangled moan.
It undoes me.
My orgasm rips through me, white-hot and consuming.
I press my forehead to hers, my breathing ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Her lips—fuck, her lips—call to me, and I kiss her, slow and reverent, before pulling away.
As I slip free, my release trickles down her thighs.
