Page 52 of Gravity of Love
No matter how much she pulled, Liam refused to let go of her wrists, the intensity in his hold matching her struggle like a finger trap as she thrashed beneath him. She felt herself get wetter as his grip tightened around her wrists, her arousal coating his shaft sliding along her lips. Her mind and body were stimulated by the erotic tug-of-war between wanting to break free and complete surrender.
The heat of Liam’s palm slid down her side, tracking the lines of her ribs, passing over the flare of her hip, and settling on her thigh. His fingertips dug into her flesh as he lifted her leg up, pulling it to his waist, opening her to him completely. She continued rolling her hips against his hard length, concentrating on the heat between her legs mounting.
Frankie’s breath turned ragged, every exhale a whimper. Her world shrank to the relentless pressure of his mouth, the roughness of his hand on her skin, and the intoxicating crest and fall of sensation as she drove towards sensual gratification.
Then, in an instant, her world exploded into a million shiny stars. The moment his teeth clamped down on her nipple, sharp and deliberate, her body detonated. There was no ramp-up, no warning, just a full-body convulsion as her orgasm tore through her like a supernova. Her back arched so hard she nearly broke his hold on her hands as her hips bucked up, grinding hard against his shaft. Pleasure bloomed from her core, expandingoutward until she lost track of time, space, and even her own voice, which rose in a thin, desperate cry.
Liam held her steady through every shudder, every involuntary twitch. His mouth didn’t stop working to draw out every last ounce of sensation until she sagged into the mattress, boneless and trembling. She could feel her pulse everywhere, even in her fingers, still locked in his grasp.
He stayed with her as she rode out her aftershocks—tiny electrical currents sparking between her legs with each shallow thrust she made against him, unable to stop. He kissed each breast in turn, lavishing them with equal reverence. Then his mouth traveled up her throat, pausing to suck behind her ear, and then over her jaw, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, until finally he kissed the space between her eyebrows, like a benediction.
She opened her lids. He stared down at her, eyes green and hooded and almost unbearably gentle. For a moment, neither of them moved, both of them suspended in the glowing, aftershock-lit air of the room.
“Hi,” she breathed.
“Next time you come—” Liam’s voice was a low rumble, dangerous and warm, vibrating straight into her brainstem. With exaggerated slowness, he moved his hand from her leg between their bodies and pressed the broad, hot crown of his cock to her entrance.
She gasped. The heat of him felt so intense it was as if he’d been forged solely for her body. Even just the pressure of his head on her seam was so much more than any fantasy, any trembling adolescent daydream. The anticipation of what he would feel like inside of her made her thighs quiver. Her body, already wrung out from the tremors of her release rippling through her, now seized with new urgency, nerves firing in a chain reaction that set her every sense sparking. His green eyesdarkened with intent as they trained on her. She sensed him memorizing every twitch, every sharp intake, and every silent plea she tried to swallow. The look on his face—the sheer concentration—sent a shiver of vulnerability through her. She’d never felt so exposed in her life, and also never felt so thoroughly seen.
“—Iwillbe inside you,” he finished, his voice as rough as gravel as he breached her just the slightest bit, his mushroom tip wedging past her opening.
Frankie’s breath hitched. Pain and pleasure collided as her body was forced to yield to his width. She felt herself stretch around him, open and trembling, a thin edge of burn that made her toes curl.
The second her body relaxed, only then did he press forward, slow and inexorable, relentless and steady. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to breathe, tried to force her body to relax. His hold on her wrists never relented, keeping her arms captive above her head while her body learned to accommodate his. Every muscle from her head to her toes was taut the need, almost unbearable.
She spread her thighs farther apart, willing her body to open for him. He pressed further, the sting causing her to flinch. The air whooshed from her lungs as the cusp of the engorged head passed the seam of her opening. Just his crown caused her inner walls to expand past their limit.
Frankie could barely process the sensation before her body was forced to adapt, stretching at his deliberate, slow push forward. When he finally filled her completely, the sound that came from her throat was not quite a whimper, not quite a moan—something wild and new. It was the sound of something being remade.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped as his forehead dropped to hers.
She felt every pulse of his restraint in the way he didn’t just slam inside her. Instead, Liam rocked his hips, holding himself steady as he waited for her body to stretch for him. She adjusted her thighs, opening wider still, to allow him space, but the pressure of his advance was almost too much.
A primal groan ripped from his chest as he released her wrists and gripped her hip, tilting her body up. Her arms felt weak as she grabbed his arms, her fingers dug crescent moons into his biceps, desperate for leverage.
He lowered his head, his cheek pressed against hers. She felt his breath and lips against the rim of her outer ear, his words acting as a powerful aphrodisiac. “You want me, all of me. Don’t you?”
She nodded, her nails marking his skin. “Please, please.”
“Good girl.”
He pressed another inch forward, and it was as if the world contracted to only this—the tension and heat at her center, the slow, involuntary melting of her resistance, and the wild, electric thrill of it all.
Frankie’s head fell back, her mouth opening in a gasp she tried to stifle but couldn’t. “Holy—” she tried, but he cut her off with a kiss, full and deep and greedy, swallowing the rest of her words. The need in him was barely contained.
The burn, the stretch, the fullness—she hadn’t known she could feel like this. Her whole body shook as he built the rhythm, just a little, withdrawing and then pressing in with exquisite patience, taking his time so she was forced to feel every nerve ending spark with new sensation. He finally bottomed out, the impact of his hips against hers making her whole body seize, and she realized she was holding her breath.
“Fuck,” he gritted out against her mouth, and she could feel the tremor that ran through him.
He eased back, just a fraction, and then thrust forward, slow and measured, his eyes locked on hers like he needed to see everything she was feeling. His left hand on her hip, his right tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could bite along her jaw, her ear, her throat, wherever he could taste her skin.
Every time he moved, the friction sent shockwaves through her, and the pain gave way to pressure and then to pure, unfiltered pleasure that shimmered through every cell. Her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord, pulling him impossibly closer, needing him deeper, wanting to be filled to the brim with him, with everything he was.
“Frankie,” he whispered again, softer this time, as he pressed his lips to her cheek and then her eyelids, as if to soothe away the intensity. But he didn’t stop moving, not for a second, as if they’d built momentum and it was too late to slow down.
Frankie found herself saying things she never thought she’d say, letting herself make every sound, every plea, every needy gasp, and none of it mattered but the way he responded. The way he tipped her hips higher, changing the angle, and the way it made explosions burst behind her eyes. The way he seemed to feel her every desire and anticipate her need, as if they were one organism, fused together.
He drove into her with a punishing rhythm, every plunge designed to push her closer to the edge. Her nails clawed at his back, at his arms. She was losing herself, and she wanted to be lost. That was the point, wasn’t it? To be consumed. To be undone.
