Page 127 of The Fire We Make

With one hand, he held her close and with the other, he lowered the partition.

“Aye Ray, I need you to floor this shit my nigga.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Joy and Ace’s hands never left each other.

Not during the car ride to Ace’s house.

And in the foyer where he currently had her pinned to the wall.

Joy’s head was between a painting that likely cost as much as her education and Ace’s two Howard degrees and Columbia law degree.

Ace’s head was between her thighs, one leg hiked over his shoulder, her panties long ago discarded in the back of the Escalade as he lapped at the juices that had begun flowing the moment Ace’s fist connected with the detective and hadn’t stopped since.

He’d dropped down to his knees in front of her like it was second nature. Like a servant worshipping a goddess.

Joy tipped her head back against the wall, the coarse hair of his beard scratching the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he alternated between licking and sucking on her swollen clit.

“Adonis,” Joy whimpered. She didn’t know what she was calling him for, it just felt right to have his name on her tongue while her clit was on his.

Ace didn’t answer and he didn’t slow down.

If anything, her sounds and pleas only made him go harder – more focused and intent on bringing her pleasure and consuming her in the process.

His muffled groans of pleasure were frequent as he feasted on her.

“Adonis please,” she whined again, this time with purpose. She rolled her hips against his face, chasing more friction, more pleasure, more of him. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

His mouth felt divine but it wasn't enough.

“I need you,” she breathed.

That got his attention.

Their eyes met for just a second before Ace rose and scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing, pulling a startled squeal from Joy.

He carried her to this bedroom while Joy kissed and licked every part of his skin she could reach.

His jaw.

His cheek.

His collarbone.

His neck.

She felt feral, completely out of control and utterly needy for him but she didn’t care.

Everything she’d been holding back for months came pouring out like a flood and she had no desire to stop it any longer.

She didn’t want to control it.

She didn’t want to run.

Joy slid out of his arms once they made it to his room. Ace sat on the edge of the California King eyeing her with the hunger of a starved man.

“Take all that shit off,” he demanded. His voice was rough with restraint that sounded like it was hanging on by a thread. He unholstered the gun he’d used not long ago and tossed it onto the nightstand. Joy’s pussy jumped but did as she was told.