Page 115 of The Sweetest Obsession

After the briefest hesitation, I turn my head, brushing my lips against his ear.

“Grant,” I purr.

It’s like flipping a switch.

His entire beastly body goes rock-hard.

His cock pulses against me so violently I feel it jerking, straining against his jeans like it has a mind of its own.

Growling, he braces his hands against the bed and pushes back, gazing down with heat and shadows in his eyes like a leaping campfire.

Right before he very deliberately begins stripping my clothes off.

I’ve never had anything like this.

You can barely call it foreplay.

But it’s the silent intensity in Grant’s unblinking, burning stare that makes me a mess.

The slow, calculated movements as he teases the little ribbon tying my cardigan shut.

The manic way he touches me with every movement, his knuckles grazing my breasts as he tugs the cardigan open.

It’s so sexy, yet never quite satisfies, leaving me aching for more, my nipples throbbing and peaking, dying for his hands and mouth.

It’s beyond hypnotic.

“Damn, woman. Goddamn, you are fucked.”

No kidding.

I just wish he’d make it happen faster.

He has me in thrall, helpless to even move, trapped in his carnivorous eyes as he lifts me up with one broad hand.

He handles me effortlessly, peeling the cardigan away and pulling my thin camisole over my head.

I can’t even whimper as he lays me back down and slowly runs his fingers through my hair, fanning it out in a halo.

This vibe, it’s almost frightening.

It’s soraw, so real, so alive with feeling I have to curl my toes so I don’t black out.

Big bad wolf, indeed.

I never imagined I’d be the delicacy he wants to swallow whole, but here I am, willing prey and all.

There’s definitely a slow, wolfish smile on his lips as he presses his fingers to the apex of my ribs, slowly dragging them up, engraving the roughness of his skin in my flesh.

As his middle finger hooks under the clasp in the center of my bra, I inhale sharply.

The lace cups drag against my sensitive nipples, pulling a whimper from the back of my throat.

“Gra—”

“Hush,” he demands.

There’s pure command in the soft, gritty sound that liquefies my bones.

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