Page 57 of Babies for the Big Shot
His fingers tease, sliding under the thin fabric, stroking where I’m already aching for him…
Oh god.
I grip his jacket, dizzy, helpless against the wall as he strokes fire into my veins.
“If you want me to stop,” he whispers, “I will.”
But I don’t him want to.
I shake my head, breathless.
“Good girl.”
His mouth crashes onto mine before I can speak again, fierce and urgent, as if every second without this was unbearable. Cool air brushes my bare skin as he strokes along the curve of my hip, fingers slipping under the lace edge of my panties, owning me.
“Nick…” I gasp, but my protest is breathless, weak, dissolving under the slow grind of his thigh between mine.
“Say you’re mine, Sara,” he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. “Say you belong to me.”
God help me, I want to.
Because right now, I do.
I arch into him, shameless, needy. “I’m yours,” I whisper. “For tonight…”
His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back so I have to meet his eyes. His stare is dark, dangerous. Pure male possession.
“Not just tonight,” he says softly, a velvet threat. “You are mine. You’ll learn that. One way or another.”
Heat pools low in my belly. My thighs clench around his, desperate for friction, for relief.
But then an idea flickers.
A wicked, reckless spark.
If he wants to own me… maybe I want to own him right back.
I slide my hands down his chest, over his rock-hard stomach, down to the sharp line of his belt.
His breath catches.
“What are you doing, little one?” he murmurs, low and dangerous.
I drop to my knees, and his eyes go black.
“Proving I belong to you,” I say softly, undoing the buckle with trembling fingers. “Letting you forget her. Forget everything but me.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. His hand cups the back of my head as I free him from the expensive fabric, hard and thick and already straining for me.
“Fuck, Sara…”
I kiss the tip, slow and soft, teasing, tasting him. His hiss of breath curls through the quiet coatroom.
“You’re so good like this,” he mutters, fingers tightening in my hair. “On your knees for me. Look at you…”
I flick my tongue over him, swirling, slow and sweet, until his hips jerk. Until his control starts to fray.
His hand tightens. Gently holding. Guiding. But letting me set the pace.
