He pulls back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes a dark, stormy sea of raw, undiluted want. “Anything,” he growls.
And then he’s moving, his mouth trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down from my breast. My head falls back against the pillows as his mouth continues its devastating descent, over my stomach, and lower.
“Rett,” I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets as I realize what he’s about to do.
He just looks up at me from between my thighs, and the pure, focused adoration on his face makes my entire body tremble. This powerful, untouchable man is kneeling before me. For me.
Then his mouth is on me, and the world dissolves into a white-hot explosion of pure pleasure.
He’s an expert. His tongue and lips working me in tandem. He learns my body in seconds, finding the exact rhythm, the perfect pressure, that makes my hips buck off the bed. He drinks my sounds, his low, pleased growls vibrating against the most sensitive parts of me.
The pleasure builds, coiling in my belly like a tight, unbearable pressure as the claiming marks on my neck seem to ignite, pulsing in a frantic rhythm that matches the movement of his mouth. It’s too much. I’m going to come apart.
“Please,” I whimper, not sure if I’m begging him to stop or to never, ever stop.
He seems to take it as the latter. He lifts his head for a fraction of a second, his eyes black with hunger. “Scream for me, Zoe,” he commands, his voice a raw, guttural rasp. “Let me taste you.”
And then he’s back on me, harder this time, his tongue a relentless, perfect torment. That’s all it takes. The wave crests and breaks, and I come apart with a shattered cry, my body convulsing, the pleasure so intense it’s a kind of pain.
He doesn’t stop. He holds me, laving at me, swallowing every last tremor of my release until I’m a boneless, whimpering mess.
When I can finally breathe again, he begins his slow ascent.
He moves up my body, his mouth and hands leaving a trail of wet heat in their wake, tasting and memorizing every inch of me. My stomach. My ribs. The valley between my breasts. He doesn’t stop until he is braced over me, his powerful body caging mine, his eyes a dark, stormy blue.
He settles himself between my thighs, our gazes lock, and then he’s pushing into me. A slow, soul-deep slide that has my body stretching, welcoming his thick heat.
We both groan at the feeling of him filling me.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
He starts to move, every thrust sending a new wave of pleasure crashing through me.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low, guttural rasp.
I open my eyes, and my breath hitches. The look on his face is one of pure, unguarded adoration. The control is gone. The CEO is gone. There is only the man. The alpha.
“Mine,” he growls, and then he’s moving faster, deeper, a frantic, desperate rhythm that is all about possession.
But just as I’m about to come apart, he pulls back.
“No,” I whimper, a protest torn from my throat at the sudden loss.
“Shh,” he says, his voice a raw, ragged rasp. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “I want to watch you,” he whispers, and the words are a hot, possessive brand against my skin.
He’s braced above me, his body slick with sweat, his jaw clenched with a control that is almost terrifying. In one swift, efficient motion, he’s back inside me with a single, deep, possessive thrust that steals the air from my lungs.
“Now,” he growls, his hips slamming against mine. “Come with me.”
When the pleasure finally crests, it’s a tsunami. I come apart with his name on my lips, my body convulsing around him, and he follows a second later with a raw roar, his body shuddering as he finds his own release.
He collapses onto me, his head buried in the curve of my neck, his breathing harsh and ragged against my skin. I can feel the frantic, thundering beat of his heart matching my own.
He doesn’t say “mine” again. He doesn’t have to.
Every exhausted, shuddering breath he takes against my skin is saying it for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
