Page 187 of The Perfect Wrong

His lips curl back as he sinks in, and he doesn’t stop until his balls are wedged against my ass.

He only needs one stroke to take me over.

To stretch me so sweetly, to remind me of his size, to tell me I’ll take every inch of him like the good girl I am.

Perfection.

We’reperfect twined together, molded together in the fullest carnal sense.

“Got to make tonight count, babe. I’m leaving soon,” he whispers, stopping to rake his hot lips and stubble over my throat. He sucks the nook below my ear so hard I know he’ll leave a bruise, and I don’t care.

Ouch. He picks now of all times to bring it up?

“There’s a mission?” I whisper.

“That’s up to the bosses, but yeah, something’s brewing. Don’t give me that worried look, Delia. Do I need to drive that shit out of your eyes?” He runs his hand slowly through my hair, tugging my locks in his fist. He pulls harder just as he rears back, driving his cock to my depths. “Fuck me. Fuck me like you’ll take this dick when I come home. Show me how you’ll miss me, woman.”

“Chris...”

I breathe his name softly, but the tenderness is gone.

All the wild energies from the party take over.

He slams into me again and again, wielding so much force I almost bounce off the table.

I pinch my legs around him, tighter than ever.

I love how he glides through my heat, my wetness, straight to my womb.

I love the glint in his eye, the roughness in his voice as he takes his pleasure.

And I’m on the verge of tears when he lunges forward with his muscles drawn tight.

The wine cellar feels like a freaking sauna tonight. Sweat rolls off us in rivulets.

I impulsively rise up at one point when he slows his strokes, kissing the drops off his chest.

He tastes just like he smells—salty, masculine, earthy, and powerful.

Like the sea that brought him to me and calls him away, the bottomless deep with its beauty and perils and dangers I can’t comprehend.

His steaming mouth covers mine, owning it.

His tongue punches deep, thrusting with the same ragged tempo in his hips.

I kiss back harder, sucking his tongue wildly, throwing my hands over his neck and digging my nails deep.

“Delia, fuck!” he grunts like a wolf, something possessive flaring in his storming green eyes.

The fever burns.

The only cure in the world is his dick, his come, his kisses so rough they bruise me.

His sweat, his scent, his thrusts.

“Fuck me,” I whisper harshly, throwing my body at his. “Give me something to remember while you’re gone.Mark me.”

I’m speaking with a voice I don’t recognize.

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