Page 110 of Gravity of Love
When she started to sag against him, spent and pliant, he shifted his grip, braced her hips in both hands, and rolled them over with a sudden, practiced move. Frankie landed on her back, hair fanned out on the rug, mouth parted in a dazed O as he hovered above her.
He could tell she wasn’t expecting it when he shifted, the motion so fast it left her panting. One moment she was riding him, chest heaving and hair wild, and the next, he flipped her and pressed her down onto the rug. Frankie’s gasp went silentin her throat as he hooked her knees over his elbows and thrust into her with the authority of a man who knew exactly how to unravel her. He wanted to see her like this—pinned beneath him, body shaking, back arched, her hands grasping wildly at his biceps.
He pulled out slowly, relishing the way her body tried to follow, the lining of her pussy clinging to his shaft. He set her hips down and lined himself up again. This time, instead of hooking her knees in his elbows, he used his hands to spread her thighs apart, laying her wide and fully open to him, her core pulsed, greedy and waiting. He loved the look on her face, eyes wild, mouth open, pure need, no filter, no shields. He loved to extend the suspense, inspire her surrender, and force delirious pleasure on a woman who'd spent her life refusing to be tamed.
As her eyes watched where their bodies were intimately joined, he pushed between her glistening, pouty lips in one forceful, relentless thrust, filling her completely. She made a sound he’d never heard—part gasp, part plea—as his rock-hard member pulled out and back in in a measured stroke, driving into her deep and tight, the pressure perfect. He had to lock his jaw to keep himself from coming instantly, the feeling was so intense, so perfectly calibrated to the edge of pleasurable oblivion.
He stilled, then tilted her hips up, rotating just a little, using the angle to hit every sensitive coil inside her. Her eyes rolled back. "Ahh," she moaned, voice shredded and beautiful. “Harder, faster.”
Liam breathed in through his nose, doing everything he could to keep his composure as he did as she asked, surging harder, faster, and holding her spread wide so she couldn't shift away from the intensity. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her nails clawing down his flesh, and he relished the evidence of her losing control. She tried to say something, his name, maybe, ora curse, but all that came out was a breathless, silent cry as her mouth opened and her head fell back.
He felt her tighten even more, the spasm of her orgasm building again, and this time it drove him right to the brink. He could barely hold back, could barely keep his movements steady, as she writhed beneath him, her body locking down on his steel rod like a vise. He wanted to watch her come undone, to memorize the exact moment her pleasure broke her apart.
“Liam—” she gasped, and the sound of his name from her lips, wild and helpless, undid him.
Pleasure erupted through him like Mount Vesuvius. He was gone. His hands moved to her hips, holding them in place as he slammed into her with a force that bordered on reckless, and let himself go. His release tore through him in an eruption so white-hot he lost sense of up or down. His body jerked with each staggering climactic peak. His eyes closed, and stars appeared behind his lids as one aftershock and then another ricocheted through him, again and again, until he felt boneless and empty, every cell in his body spent.
He collapsed forward, bracing himself on his forearms as he tried to catch his breath. Frankie was limp below him, arms flung wide as if she’d just run a marathon and fallen at the finish line. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled. The room felt impossibly warm and safe.
She nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder, mumbling something against his neck that he couldn’t quite make out but it sounded like, “Fuck that was good.” He smiled, feeling her heartbeat flutter against his chest, her nipples brushing his taut skin with each breath she took.
When his arms began to shake, worn out, completely eviscerated, he collapsed onto his back and brought her with him. He was dimly aware of her tracing the tattoos on his chestas he ran his hand up and down her back. He would happily remain in this cabin, just like this, for hours, days, or maybe the rest of his life.
They did stay like that for a long time, listening to the snap, sputter, and hiss of the wood in the fireplace and the wind rattle the windowpanes. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say, really. The words would come later. For now, it was enough just to exist in the same space, to feel each other’s heart beating, knowing it was beating for the other person.
He waited for Frankie to fall asleep like she normally did. For her to drift off with her face pressed to his chest. When her breathing grew even, he’d lie awake, watching her features soften into dreams. But that didn’t happen. Frankie was restless. She shifted and propped herself up on one elbow. His eyes were closed, but he felt her studying his face.
“You’re staring,” he said, eyes shut, voice roughened by smoke and exhaustion.
“Maybe I am,” she shot back.
“Creepy,” he muttered, and she laughed, low and throaty.
“Deal with it. You’re interesting to look at.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Never heard that before.”
“Maybe you hang out with the wrong people,” she said as she smoothed her palm over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“Can I stop you?” he asked, for once not bothering to mask the affection in his tone.
When she didn’t immediately have a smart comeback, he opened his eyes. He found her biting her bottom lip, eyes filled with uncertainty as she scanned his face.
“Are you okay? I mean, are you okay? With all of this?” She gestured vaguely, as if indicating the tornado they’d just created. “Withus?”
He blinked. “You mean the best night of my life? Yeah, I’m good.”
She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was relieved at his answer. “Okay, just checking.”
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and gently tucking it behind her ear. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough,” she bit back.
“Pretty sure you worry for both of us.” He pulled her closer, folding her under his arm. “Go to sleep, Francesca.”
“Uh oh. Full name.” She snuggled closer to him. “Does that mean you’reserious?”
“I’m always serious,” he stated flatly.
