Page 147 of Vow to Claim You

He knows my body better than I do now. Knows exactly what rhythm makes me fall apart. Knows exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there, trembling, desperate.

“Please—”

“Come for me.” It sounds like a command, and my body obeys before my mind can catch up, shattering, clenching, waves of pleasure crashing through me so hard I have to bite my hand to keep from screaming.

He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking. Until the aftershocks have faded. Until I’m boneless on his desk, dignity abandoned, completely and thoroughly undone.

When he rises, his mouth is wet, his eyes are wild, and the evidence of how much this affected him is pressing against the front of his perfectly tailored trousers.

“We really don’t have time,” I whisper.

“I don’t care.”

He frees himself, and then he’s gripping my hips and pulling me to the edge of the desk and⁠—

Oh.

He slides into me in one brutal thrust. My back arches. My nails dig into his shoulders. The stretch is perfect, full, overwhelming, and exactly what I need.

“Look at me.”

I open eyes I didn’t realize I’d closed. He’s watching me with that intensity that still takes my breath away. Like I’m the center of his universe. Like nothing else exists. Like I’m the one thing he craves and the one thing that’ll destroy him.

“You’re mine,” he groans, pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

“I’m yours.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Aric.”

He stills, just for a beat, his forehead dropping to mine.

“Bare min. Only mine. Si det,” he speaks in his own language, low against my mouth.

“Bare din,” I reply in Norwegian and something in his eyes detonates.

His mouth crashes against mine like he is trying to swallow the word whole, and I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He thrusts into me—hard, deep, and relentless. The desk shudders beneath us, something else crashes to the floor, and neither of us spares it a glance.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Every time you walk into a room⁠—”

“Harder.”

“Every time you look at me with those eyes⁠—”

“Don’t stop.”

He slams into me so hard the desk scrapes across the floor, and I cry out, and his mouth swallows the sound.

“You’re going to walk into that ballroom,” he growls against my lips, “with my come dripping down your thighs, and no one will know except us.”

The image sends a fresh wave of heat through me.