He loosens it just like he promised, kissing the spot between my breasts where it rested. He unlaces the corset like he’s unwinding the Gordian knot, one thread at a time, peeling the cloth away with his brow pulled low as a thunderhead.
Holy hell.
His tongue traces circles over the top of my cleavage before plunging lower. He takes my breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue against my nipple, marking me with his teeth.
“Oh!” Somehow, I have the poise for my arms to flail at his belt until I find it.
He goes still, letting me move it through the loops, his eyes completely animalistic.
I unbutton his pants and slide them down, raking my hands under his boxers, pushing them away.
In one brisk tug of his arm, my dress is gone.
His head falls between my breasts. His lips paint my skin in soft, quick, sweet strokes. And he trails those soft, quick, sweet kisses down to my silk panties, the last barrier between us.
Ward’s teeth nip at my waist, and the cloth moves, but barely.
Oh, God. This is it.
My legs tremble. My eyelids quiver. The waistband moves a little bit more, inch by agonizing inch, baring me to this brute of a boss I can’t believe I’m getting naked with.
This sculpture of a man removes my panties with his teeth and a lingering shudder of thunder in his throat.
“I’ve lived like a monk and I’m clean,” he says, gazing into my eyes as he stands again. “Tell me I can feel you, Paige.”
I know what he’s asking, and I answer with a nod that turns my cheeks into cherries. “I’m on the pill. Ward, I need you.”
And his kiss tells me how flipping bad that need is as he pushes me back on the bed and climbs between my legs.
I feel like a total goddess.
I think it can’t get better.
But then he slides into me.
I forget how to breathe. My pussy molds to the enormous thrust filling me, hell-bent on conquest.
He anchors himself deep enough to rest his balls against my skin, his pubic bone grazing my clit, and—
And holy Warden.
We fuse together too perfectly.
His hips pull back and crash forward again, a wave of a man, pleasure made tsunami, everything wild in the slash of his hips that says he means to carve his name in my body with pure ecstasy.
His mouth smothers mine, ripping the air from my lungs.
Soft, lavish strokes of his tongue announce his greed, and a full body caress grinds on.
I wrap my arms around him, desperate to have him closer, even when we’re joined in a primal rhythm that keeps coming faster, harder, beautifully.
“Paige, fuck,” he groans, eyes flashing deep in his head, twin blue fires.
His hands grab mine, throwing them over my head and pinning me to the mattress, pressing me down so tight it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins. The sinful slash of his tongue and pelvis don’t miss a beat, and shit, I’m close.
My legs hook around his hips, shaking, an O the size of a California earthquake pounding through me.
I cinch my legs around him and surrender to the ride.
And I can’t withstand much more, knowing I’m about to come on every seething inch of him, every hammer of his thrusts and match-strike of my clit.
Every freaking glory that makes Ward Brandt the only constellation I’ll ever want in my sky.
He breaks our kiss with a ragged groan, a rough tension in his wall of a body, and a glance that carves me up.
The tempo of his hips rises from slow and gentle to ruthless. Impatient.
I squeeze my legs tighter, holding on for dear life.
He kisses my eyebrow and returns his tongue to my mouth, a kiss that leaves no doubt what he’s demanding.
Thank God, because I’ll die if we don’t come together.
“Ward!” I whimper, mouthing his name on the charged air more than saying it.
“Come for me, damn you,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine, and winning the war that began the day our destinies crashed together.
White-hot pleasure rips through me, courtesy of the beast who plunges his cock ever deeper, reminding me with every stroke that I’ll be owned long after this night.
Far longer than any contract.
It’s a whole new level of electric I never knew existed.
Every nerve tingles, a fiery echo of the eruption in my core.
I’m convulsing. Floating on air. I think I’m laughing—silently, of course, because I’m so drunk on this climax I can’t make a sound.