My thighs spread over his. My knees dig into the mattress on either side of his hips. And the hard length of him is pressed right against me. My hips roll on instinct, and his fingers press into my waist. Hard.
His mouth drags from mine to my jaw, teeth scraping, and his hands slide down to my ass and pull me tighter against him. The friction is so delicious, my head drops back and my spine arches.
“You’re mine,” he tells me. “Leo is mine. And you’re not leaving. Ever.”
“Never.”
His mouth is on my throat. His hips push up into me, and I grind down, and the groan that comes out of him vibrates against my skin. My fingers dig into the leather of his cut.
He pulls back. His hands are on my hips, holding me still. We’re both breathing hard. I’m in his lap with my thighs locked around him and every inch of me pressed against every inch of him.
His knuckles brush the side of my neck. “I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“And I’m going to be angry for a while.”
“I know.”
He kisses me again. Slower this time. Deep and thorough, his tongue sliding against mine, and I melt into him and let him take whatever he needs.
When he breaks the kiss, his lips drag across mine, and he doesn’t go far. An inch. His blue eyes on mine.
“I should have claimed you before you left.” His hand flattens against my chest, right over my heart, and he holds it there. “I should have claimed you five years ago. After I met you for the first time, I never wanted anybody else. You were mine the moment we met.”
I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him until neither of us can breathe.
His hands slide up under my shirt, palms flat on my bare skin, and his fingers spread across my ribs.
Every cell in my body is buzzing with arousal.
“Shelby has Leo,” I whisper against his mouth. “And the door is locked.”
His hands tighten on my ribs. His hips push up into me one more time.
We are so done talking.
CHAPTER 7
VIOLET
His mouth owns mine.There’s no other way to describe it.
Years of hunger pour into the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth against my bottom lip, the drag of his tongue that makes my hips roll against him. I’m in his lap, thighs locked around his waist, and every part of me that spent three years pretending I didn’t need this man is calling me a goddamn liar.
His hands slide up my ribcage under my shirt, and he pulls it over my head. Cool air hits my skin. His eyes drop to my chest, and his jaw flexes.
His thumb traces the edge of my bra, knuckle dragging across the swell of skin above the lace.
He unclips the bra. It falls between us, and he doesn’t look at it. He’s looking at me. His palms come up and cup my breasts, and his thumbs brush across both nipples at the same time.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin, and a feral grin spreads across his mouth.
He dips his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. Hot. Wet. His tongue presses against me, then the edge of his teeth, and I grab the back of his head and hold him there.
His beard is rough against my skin, and the sensation sends my hips grinding down against him again. The hard ridge of him through his jeans is right where I need it, and I chase the friction.
His hands clamp my hips and stop me.
