“You’re going to ruin me,” he rasps, his accent thick and rough.
Maybe I already have. I fucking hope so.
Because the truth is, this isn’t just about pleasure.
It’s about claiming him in my own way. Tasting him. Making him tremble. Knowing that this man—the fierce, possessive, brilliant Atlas Stavros—is mine. At least for tonight.
His grip tightens in my hair. “Stop,” he groans. “Fuck, if you don’t stop?—”
But I don’t. Not yet. Not until his whole body locks up and a curse slips from his lips in Greek.
Not until I feel him fall apart in my hands, with a kind of reverence I’ve never felt from anyone before.
Atlas roars as he fills my mouth with his release. Thick, hot jets of cum slide down my throat, and I swallow it. All of it.
When I finally pull back, his chest is heaving and his eyes are wild, molten, stunned.
I lick my lips and smile up at him.
“That was—” Atlas shakes his head, tugging me up, pulling me into his arms. “No one’s ever—” he doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t have to. He kisses me instead, not minding the taste of himself on my tongue.
And, oh God, that kiss says it all.
It undoes me.
And when he lifts me into his arms and carries me like I weigh nothing at all, I know the night is far from over.
Because now it’s his turn to worship me.
And this time, it’s not just sex.
It’s something more.
Something dangerous.
Something that feels a hell of a lot like maybe he’s falling in love, too.
Please let him love me.
Chapter Twenty-Five-Atlas
This woman is going to kill me.
Her verdant eyes sparkle up at me from where she kneels after having sucked every drop of reason I had right through my cock.
No, I’m not reasonable where she’s concerned.
Not even close.
All I feel now is raw need and urgency. So damn much that it’s like a lump in my throat and I can hardly breathe.
“Up. Bed. Now,” I grunt, lifting her by her armpits and spinning her around, but not before I practically claw her outfit off her body.
Goddamn that body.
So lush and perfect. So mine.
