Bombshell (The Rivals #3) - Geneva Lee Page 0,51

She turns away from me, but I snatch the point of her chin and force her to look at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t claim what’s mine?”

Her eyes, wide as the moon but dim as an eclipse, meet mine at last, but she says nothing. After all this time and everything we’ve been through, she still doesn’t understand. She’s been conditioned to expect the worst, especially when it comes to love.

“Answer!” I command.

“I thought you left,” she says feebly. “You did leave.”

“Wrong, Lucky. You’re so fucking wrong. I never left.”

A flicker of recognition dawns. “I didn’t know. I thought—”

“I know exactly what you thought. You thought I was gone and wouldn’t return. You thought they beat me. You believed them. But you belong to me.” I watch realization dawn. A ragged sob escapes her lips, but it’s not regret or fear that sends her tears streaming down her cheeks—it’s relief.

“People lie to themselves their whole lives,” I whisper. “They let others confuse or deceive them. I can’t let that happen to us again.”

I spin Adair away from me, drawing her backside against me and plunging my hand down the front of her jeans and capturing her mound with my hand. It swells, hot and wet, in my palm, and when my other hand tangles amid the hair at the base of her scalp, Adair melts against me. I twist the handful of her hair, bringing her lips to mine, claiming her with my mouth as my hands possess her body.

“You belong to me. It’s inevitable. Indisputable. Don’t even try to argue with me. Do you understand?”

Slick heat answers for her, her body comprehending instantly. I plunge my fingers inside her, releasing the moans of pleasure always there waiting for me.

“These lips are mine,” I say, nipping the corner of her bottom lip, hard. A single drop of blood trails down her chin, dropping onto the mound of her breast. She barely registers the pain. She trembles, giving up the last remnants of her fear, as she’s reborn in the safety of my possession.

Releasing her hair, I yank her shirt off with my free hand, my other continuing to massage away any remaining doubt. I throw the shirt across the room, watching her breasts sway in her bra. The sight of her body, even half-clothed, sends blood pumping into my cock.

“These breasts are mine,” I say again, gripping one tenderly, then roughly.

“Sterling,” she says, like she’s calling to me from across a pitch black room. “I’m yours.”

Two small words that mean everything.

She understands. Her words unlock my cage, unleashing me from all restraint. I spin her back towards me, and our mouths collide with desperate longing. I pop the button and zipper of her jeans, and wrench them down below her hips. She takes over the task eagerly, kicking off her shoes and wiggling out of the skin-tight fabric while I free my eager cock from my pants. Its head thumps against the soft fullness of her stomach, and my balls constrict painfully.

I coax her backwards, my hands on her shoulders, until she bumps into the wall of the kitchen. My fingers grip the elastic stretching over one hip, and she goes rigid, standing ready, willing, for whatever I want to do to her next. Locking eyes with her, I snap the elastic and a soft moan slips past her lips.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I murmur, my hands moving to snap the other side. Her eyes roll back a little and she groans as I slide the ruined fabric across her drenched pussy and bring it to my face.

Her gaze flickers to the left, pink blooming on her cheeks, and I smirk. “What’s wrong, Lucky?”

“I…” Her teeth sink into her lower lip, her eyes still carefully looking past me.

I redirect her chin, so that it’s impossible for her to avoid my stare, then I inhale deeply. “All these years and you still smell like magnolias and vanilla, like new books and forever.”

Her throat slides as I let the panties fall to the ground, and I lean to kiss her collarbone.

I bend and lift her, hooking her knees over my forearms and pinning her against the wall. Taking a moment, I appreciate the sight: her creamy thighs splayed wide, a soft thatch of coppery hair, and her, pink and wet and waiting. Her arms circle my neck and lock around it like she’s holding on for the ride.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name,” I

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