“You smell like salvation,” he groans against my throat.
His beard scratches my skin, making my nipples tighten under my dress. Every inch of me aches for more.
“Touch me,” I say, my voice breathy.
With trembling fingers, he skims the neckline of my dress. The first button slips free, then the second. Cool air hits my skin as the fabric parts, revealing the valley between my breasts. Rowland kisses every inch of exposed cleavage like it’s precious, making my nerve endings sing.
“I dreamt of you when I was in chains and shadows. And now you’re here, in the light, in my arms,” he says as more buttons pop free.
His breathing gets heavier, his lips more insistent as my dress falls open completely. He pushes it off my shoulders, letting the fabric pool at my feet. I stand before him in just my bra and panties, my nipples aching for his touch.
His hands hover over my skin, just shy of claiming. “You’re more beautiful than anything I ever let myself imagine.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks. Nobody has everlooked at me with such naked hunger or unbridled reverence. His gaze burns away every dismissal, every cruel word still haunting my psyche, and every time a man ever made me feel like garbage.
“But you already know what I look like,” I say with a smile.
He shakes his head. “Not like this. Not when you’re giving yourself to me.”
He traces the curve of my waist, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. I shiver, all sensation racing south.
“I thought about this every night,” he murmurs. “About having you. Tasting you. Making you mine.”
His hands slide up to cup my breasts through the lace. I moan as his thumbs brush over my nipples.
“Please, Annalisa. Let me worship those perfect breasts. Give this poor bastard a taste of heaven.”
I reach behind me, unhooking my bra. It falls away, and his breath catches. My nipples tighten with need, and I arch my back. He drinks in every detail with his dark eyes like he’s storing it for later.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Even prettier than in the dark.”
He cups my breasts, lifting and weighing them, thumbs circling my nipples until I’m panting. When his mouth finds a peak, his tongue flicks over it and I cry out, tangling fingers in his hair. He sucks harder, his teeth grazing tender flesh.
“God, yes,” I say with a gasp. “Just like that.”
He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention. My pussy throbs, soaking my panties. I need him inside me, but I don’t want this to end. I want this man to worship me forever.
“Rowland,” I moan.
He drags his mouth from my nipple like it hurts to stop. “Tell me what you need, Annalisa. I need to hear it.”
“You. All of you.”
Something fierce flashes in his eyes. He straightens, his hands dropping to his waist. I lick my lips, my gaze locked on the massive bulge straining his pants. I slide my hands beneath his shirt, peeling off the torn fabric to reveal broad shoulders and thick biceps. My gaze roves over his chiseled chest, tight abs, and the huge cock standing to attention. It’s thick, veiny, with a bulbous head already glistening with precum.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Rowland claims my lips again, kissing me deep and sliding his hands down to my ass. He lifts me onto the edge of the mahogany table, where that psychopath cataloged me for death. Now it’s ours.
“I want to ruin you right here on Edward’s desk,” he says against my lips.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Claiming this space. Taking back power from the man who destroyed his life and would have ended mine.
“Then fuck me,” I say.
After hooking his fingers in my panties, he slides them down my legs and places the soaked cotton to his nose with a groan. “Fuck, I could live on your scent for a hundred years. You have no idea how much power you hold over my soul.” He slides my underwear into his back pocket and ghosts his fingers over my folds. “You’re drenched. It’s like your body’s begging just as hard as mine.”
“Only for you,” I murmur.
