His eyes darken. “Fuck me, lass, you’re perfect.”
I arch into his touch, every nerve ending on fire. He’s maddeningly patient, taking his time, and I want to urge him to hurry, but I can’t form words because his mouth is doing things that make my brain shut down entirely.
He kisses my shoulder. “Mine,” he whispers, and the constant chatter of anxiety in my mind—the voices that never stop—becomes blissfully, deliciouslyquiet. “Mine.”
His rough fingers skate down the length of my arm, then back up, tracing my collarbone. They come to rest on my hip, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there.
“Do you like that, Erin? Does that feel good?”
I close my eyes, then breathe out on an exhale. “Yes. I love it when you touch me. Don’t stop, please.”
“Good lass.” He wraps his hand in my hair and claims my mouth. His tongue sweeps against mine. Demanding. Possessive.
My thighs are slick with arousal. My brain is blissfully content. Quiet. Focused only on us.
He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. “Are you nervous?”
I nod.
“Don’t be.” His hand slides down and cups me through my knickers. I gasp. “Let me make this body sing for me. Mine now, yeah? Every fuckin’ sound you make belongs to me.” And when I let myself go, relaxing into him, he makes a deep, masculine sound of approval. “That’s my good girl. That’s it, love. I’ll take my time until you’re ready and panting for me. We have all night.”
My body turns pliant and warm under his touch. My breasts feel heavy, aching.
The pad of his thumb grazes one nipple. His mouth closes over the other, the flat of his tongue lapping at the peak.
My body arches on instinct. I let out a soft gasp, needing pressure, needing something.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me hear you.”
The scent of our bodies and arousal fills the air around us. It’s intoxicating. When he releases my nipples to kiss my cheek, I pull his body close to mine and stroke his chest, my thumbs skating over his nipples too.
“My fuckin’god.” He releases a short growl of approval. His hardened cock throbs against my thigh. “Christ, you're perfect.Mine. Say it—tell me you're mine while I'm touchin' what belongs to me.”
“I’m yours.”
“Jesus, love, I love it when you touch me. You're gonna kill me, but I'lldie a happy man buried between these thighs.” His voice is strained, barely controlled.
He claims my mouth again, before his hand wraps around my arse and pulls me to him until we’re flush. The hard length of him presses against my core, only thin lace separating us.
Oh god. I love the feel of his hand on my arse. The possessive grip. The way he manhandles me like I’m his to do with as he pleases.
He hooks his fingers in my knickers, then drags them down my legs and tosses them aside.
I’m completely naked, exposed, and vulnerable.
He strips off his trousers and boxers, and his cock springs free—thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip. A bead of moisture glistens there.
My mouth goes dry. He’s bigger than I expected. Fear flickers through me.
“Hey.” He cups my face and makes me look at him. “We’ll go slow. I promise.”
“Okay.”
He spreads my thighs with his big hands and lowers himself to the floor. I realize what he’s going to do, and it feels too much, too intimate. I press them closer together when his eyes darken on me.
“I want to taste you, love. Can you trust me?”
“That’s too much,” I whisper.
