Page 43 of Roar Me Like You Mean It
She squeezes my hand, her chin lifting, her voice steady. “And I won’t let them take you either.”
The vow burns between us, hotter than fire, brighter than the frost.
Roman burned his mark into my gate, I feel not rage, but resolve. Revenge will come, yes. But now—now is protection.
For her. For us. For what we’re building together on ground even Roman can’t corrupt.
30
JENNIFER
The air hums around us, ancient and electric, but all I feel is the heat of his body against mine. He turns me slowly, his hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms, his chest a solid wall at my back. His breath is warm against my ear.
“This place,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “It feels you.”
His fingers find the hem of my sweater, slipping beneath the fabric to trace the skin of my stomach. I lean back into him, my head against his shoulder, my breath catching as his palm flattens against my ribs. He pushes the sweater up, his other hand working the button of my jeans.
“Let me feel you, Jennifer.”
I help him, my movements clumsy with need, pushing my jeans and underwear down my hips. He kicks them aside, his own clothes following in a whisper of fabric. The cold air hits my skin for a single second before he turns me fully to face him, his body shielding me from everything but him.
His cock is hard against my stomach. He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheek before he claims my mouth. The kiss is deep, claiming, a slow burn that ignites every nerve ending. Helowers us both to the ground, the frost-kissed grass surprisingly soft beneath us.
He settles between my thighs, his weight a perfect, welcome pressure. He reaches down, his fingers finding my wetness, stroking me until my hips arch off the ground.
“Now,” I breathe out, my voice ragged. “Please, Malek. Now.”
He guides himself to my entrance, the head of his huge cock pressing against my pussy. He pushes in slowly, a thick, stretching fullness that makes me gasp. He stills, buried deep, his forehead pressed to mine.
“You are everything,” he whispers, his voice thick with an emotion that cracks my heart wide open.
He begins to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that builds a fire low in my belly. Each thrust is a promise, each withdrawal a sweet agony. My nails dig into the hard muscles of his back as my legs lock around his hips, pulling him deeper.
“Harder,” I plead into his shoulder.
His pace shifts, becoming more urgent, his thrusts driving me into the sacred earth. The world narrows to the sound of our ragged breathing, the slick friction of our bodies joining, the feel of him moving inside me. I can feel the tension coiling tight, a spring about to break.
His rhythm becomes everything, a deep, steady pulse that drives all thought from my mind. I’m lost in the feel of him, the hard length of his cock filling me perfectly with every thrust. My fingers clutch at his shoulders, holding on as the pleasure builds, a tight, hot coil deep inside me.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips against my temple. “Let go for me.”
His pace quickens, each movement more deliberate, hitting a spot that makes me cry out. The world dissolves into sensation—the scent of him, the weight of his body, the sound of our skin meeting. The coil snaps, and a wave of pure, blinding pleasurecrashes over me. My body arches, shuddering around him as I come, a raw, broken sound tearing from my throat.
He holds himself still inside me, letting the aftershocks ripple through us both, his breath hot and ragged against my neck.
Before I can even catch my breath, he’s moving, sliding down my body. His hands hook under my thighs, spreading me open. He lowers his mouth to my pussy, his tongue finding my clit with an expertise that steals the air from my lungs.
I gasp, my hips lifting off the ground. “Malek…”
His answer is a low hum against my sensitive flesh, his tongue circling and flicking, relentless. One hand slides up my stomach to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple. The second orgasm builds faster, sharper, a lightning strike after the first quake of thunder. It’s too much, the overstimulation a sweet agony. I twist my hands in the grass, my back bowing as another, sharper climax shatters through me. This one is quieter, a deep, internal quaking that leaves me boneless and breathless.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, his breath warm on my damp skin.
"Satiated?" he asks.
"Completely," I reply, breathless.
"Hm, I'm not so sure."
