I choose him too.
“Promise?”
His mouth crushes mine. Every kiss is a possession. Every bite, a confession. It’s pure euphoria running in my veins.
Nolan draws back, looks at me. “Spread your legs, Rorie.” His voice slides into my chest, and slithers down my core, heat rolling through me like thunder.
Breath shuddering, I hesitate, a little dazed by how badly I want to obey him. How easily he could make me come with nothing but that voice and the weight of that look.
Slowly, I open for him.
He smiles.
Not cocky. Not cruel.
Just confident.
Like he already knows how this ends. And it’s with me, beneath him, whispering his name into the dark, begging for me.
Licking his lips, he slides down my body with reverence and hunger—like the only place he’s ever belonged is between my thighs.
And then he’s there.
And holy God.
It’s not sweet.
It’s not careful.
It’s filthy. It’s fevered. It’s feral.
Quick, devastating licks against my clit punch the air from my lungs. Again. Again. No mercy. No hesitation. Only relentless devotion to every moan, every tremor, every gasp he drags from me as proof I’m his.
My hand fists his hair, holding him there. The other claws the sheets, desperate for something solid as my body starts to shake.
I’m undone.
Unmade.
This man is a storm. I’ve never wanted to drown so badly.
He tugs my clit with his teeth. Cruelty and devotion are wrapped together.
I gasp, hips arching, desperate for more, begging for anything.
But he doesn’t give it.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t touch.
He watches me, lips wet, eyes darkening, chest heaving with the restraint it’s taking to hold himself back.
“You said you wanted a man who could make you come with words alone,” he says voice lethal, sin dipped in silk.
Oh, damn he remembers.
I was being a brat in that moment on the plane. And now I’m about to pay for it.
