Page 108 of Gravity of Love
With urgency she pivoted and reached for her dress and soggy underwear from the armchair, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist.
“Let go,” she forced herself to say, but her voice was a whisper, and even she couldn’t tell if it was a command or a plea.
He either didn’t hear or ignored her. Instead of letting her go, his grip tightened as his thumb pressed into the thrum of her pulse, and he pulled her gently back so that her spine collided with his bare chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, the heat of his palm seeping through her skin and into her sternum. His bare feet bracketed hers on the floor as his chin dipped to rest against her wet, tangled hair. The masculine scent that was uniquely his mixed with the wood burning in the fireplace enveloped her, cocooning her in both comfort and danger. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and urgent, and the warmth of his breath on her hair. His thick erection pressed along her lower back, throbbing heavily. The heat of his palm flattened over her belly as his fingers splayed, spanning across the width of her torso. Her eyes cast down and watched as his thumb caressed the sensitive area above her pelvic bone, causing her core to pulse. She loved the contrast of his large, tanned hand against her pale, delicate skin.
She should have been angry. She wanted to be angry. But the truth was, she wanted this more. She wanted him to hold her in place, to force her to stay, to show her that she was worth the fight—not just for him, but for herself.
His other hand—the one that had captured her in the first place—slid up from her wrist, slow and deliberate, brushing goosebumps along her forearm. His fingers traveled higher, dusting along her bicep, then feathering over her shoulder to the back of her neck, until finally threading into her hair. He fisted his hand and tilted her head back, exposing her throat. The sting of her scalp sent a delicious shiver dancing down her spine.
He didn’t kiss her at first, he just let his lips hover, letting her feel the possibility, the threat of it. Then, with a tiny shift, he pressed his mouth to her pulse point, teeth grazing lightly, tongue flicking over skin.
The sensation was electric. Her knees wanted to fold, but he anchored her, one hand at her belly, the other in her hair, keeping her upright and exposed. There was nothing gentle or sweet about it, it was raw and consuming, like he was starving, and she was the last meal on earth.
She tried to pull away, tried to breathe, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.
He tightened his grip, his lips and teeth grazing her neck as he growled, “Tell me again and I will.”
Determination to keep her guard up collided with the irresistible need building deep in her core. His mouth traced a slow, deliberate path from her neck to the slope of her shoulder. The vulnerability of it, being naked and physically overpowered, should have felt threatening, but she’d never felt safer, or more desired, in her life.
She resisted—tried to resist—but her body had already surrendered. He felt it, too. She could feel him grow even harder behind her, feel the rise and fall of his chest matching her own labored breaths. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to give him the satisfaction, but her mind was already fracturing around the intensity of his touch.
His hand drifted lower, over the taut plane of her stomach, skimming over her small patch of hair, before dipping between her legs.
Liam’s fingers slid along her folds, his touch both rough and reverent as he found the pulse point at the junction of her thighs. Frankie’s back arched as his palm pressed against the top of her sex. She tried to twist away, or maybe closer, but he matched her movement, keeping her flat against him, flush to the carved wall of his chest. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit, and heat radiated outward, a shockwave that raced to every extremity. For a moment her ownbody felt like a stranger’s, all raw nerve endings and trembling need.
She clamped a hand over his wrist, nails biting him in warning. His lips smiled against her neck, his stubble a rasp on her skin. His other hand came around to cup her breast, teasing and pinching her nipple, her body strained and needy.
Frankie’s knees buckled, and the only thing holding her upright was the steel band of Liam’s arm around her waist. His lips brushed against the rim of her ear as he whispered filthy things, words that made her blush even as she burned for more. Each syllable binding them together, each exhalation a dare for him to go further.
She whimpered, his palm never breaking rhythm, as his fingers glided along her slit. They ran up and down her folds, taking special care at the base. Every muscle in her body was strung tight, tingling with awareness at the tantalizing pull of his intimate massage. Her pleasure built unbearably, a feverish rush of tingles barreling towards erotic oblivion.
Then, at the last possible second, he released her, spun her to face him, and caught her before her legs could give way entirely. Frankie’s breath came in ragged, urgent gasps, but Liam held her with an agonizing calm, as if he had all night and maybe the rest of his life, as he pushed his sweats down his legs and stepped out of them.
His lips curled in a satisfied grin, pushing her aggravation to new levels. She wanted to curse him, but the words couldn’t get past the arousal choking her throat as he straightened and she saw his erection standing at attention. Her mouth watered at the sight, and she heard herself whimper. Actually whimper.
“See something you like?” he asked, much toococky for her liking.
In frustration, she lifted her hands to shove his chest, which was becoming something of a habit, but he caught her wrists andpinned them behind her back with one hand, the other gripped the back of her neck and cradled it, tilting it backwards.
She gasped at his ninja-fast move as his smirk disappeared when his mouth covered hers. He kissed her—softly at first, his lips barely brushing along hers, before landing fully, hungrily, with the same fierce, controlled desperation she felt in every cell. Frankie’s feet left the ground as he lifted her, effortlessly, and carried her the few steps toward the fireplace and lowered her down on the thick rug. She sank into the plush softness as her eyes opened.
The room flickered gold and orange, but she couldn’t see anything but Liam above her—his savage eyes, the outline of his perfect mouth, and the frame of his broad shoulders. Heat radiated from the hearth and from Liam in equal measure. He knelt between her legs, parting them with both hands, and kissed slowly from her ankle up the inside of her calf, pausing to nip at the soft flesh behind her knee. Frankie tried to stay still, but her body betrayed her, hips rising involuntarily, hands fisting in the rug.
He moved up her thigh, dragging his teeth lightly, then retraced his path down the other leg, making her wait, making her crazy. By the time his mouth hovered just above her sex, she was trembling, every thought reduced to a primal ache low in her belly. Liam’s eyes lifted to meet hers, holding her gaze as he kissed the crease of her hip, the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh, before once again moving to her core, his breath fanning over her folds damp with her arousal.
For a moment, he just looked at her—really looked at her, the way no one ever had. Frankie wanted to make a joke, to say something irreverent to break the tension or speed things along, but her throat was too tight. Instead, she surrendered, she let him do whatever he wanted, which was what she wanted, what she’d wanted for weeks, months, years, her entire life.
His lips curled in a knowing grin, and she wondered if he sensed her internal submission. He turned his head and began to kiss the inside of her thigh again, the stubble on his jaw grazing her satin lips as he turned and kissed the other side, working his way closer and closer until he finally parted her with his thumb and licked a slow line from her entrance to her clit. He stroked his tongue along her seam, impossibly light at first, teasing, then pressing harder as he learned the rhythm that made her gasp. He circled her with his finger, then sucked her nub softly, and the combination sent her hips bucking off the floor as shocks of bliss exploded through her.
She buried her hand in his hair and let her head fall back onto the rug. The heat from the fireplace painted her skin in waves, but his tongue was fire as it lapped up and down her feminine flesh. He was relentless—he never stopped, never pulled away, just kept pushing her higher.
Frankie’s world dissolved around her until the only thing that existed was Liam. The only reality was his tongue, his unhurried fingers, the sounds and sensations as he tasted and touched her. He held her open, his thumbs spreading her just enough to expose every nerve, and he alternated between gentle licks and sharp, focused pressure that made her hips jerk off the floor. He whispered praise into her, curses and promises, and the words buzzed in her ears as his breath heated her most sensitive skin.
He teased her mercilessly, never letting her crest, taking her right to the brink and then dragging her back again and again from the edge. His tongue and fingers magically working to bring her the most pleasure and the most torture simultaneously she’d ever experienced.
“Please,” she begged—she would never admit it, but she begged—“Please, please, please, Liam.”
It was when she said his name that he finally gave her what she craved, her orgasm ripped through her so violently she saw stars. Her whole body arched, every muscle locked, and she thought she might burst into a million pieces, just splinter apart from the force of it. Liam didn’t stop, he kept his mouth and fingers on her, working both to draw out her release, swallowing every spasm as tingling pleasure lashed through her, until she collapsed onto the rug, boneless and panting, her body thrumming with the afterglow as he pressed slow, reverent kisses along her stomach, then her breastbone, then her throat.
