Page 71 of Broken Vows

And then his lips softly brush a tender spot right behind my ear. My eyes flutter shut. I press a hand on his chest, in an attempt to stop him, but every part of me protests. “Is she okay?” I manage, my voice betraying me and I open my eyes to read his expression.

He bites his lip clearly trying—and failing—to look casual. “She’s good.”

His mouth drifts lower, unhurried, pressing a warm kiss along the side of my neck. I swallow hard as his hand slides to the back of my head, tilting me just enough to give him more access. “And, um,” I ask, breathless. “How… are you?”

Heat ripples through me as he nips lightly at my skin, then soothes the sting with his lips.

“Relieved,” he murmurs.

The word settles between us—heavy, intimate—and my grip on his chest tightens. I push my hips forward, just a little, drink in how his fingertips graze my jaw, how his thumb gently tugs on my lower lip.

“Wait.” I step out of reach with heavy breaths. “We should probably talk about this. What happened between you and Annabelle?”

He licks his lower lip and God I want to taste, lick, suck on those lips.

His fingers rake through my hair, gripping it with enough pressure to force my chin up. Heat fans through my body, spreading fast, lighting up every nerve in its path.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, exasperated. “If I promise to tell you everything later… can we please stop talking now?”

That does it.

The fight in me sparks to life. I let my gaze linger—on his mouth, then lower to those infuriatingly perfect gray sweatpants, up the hard lines of his torso beneath the tight white tank, to his mouth, and finally back to his eyes.

“If we stop talking,” I murmur, my voice rough on purpose, “what exactly do you think we’re going to do?”

His eyes flare at the challenge and his mouth crashes into mine in a brutal kiss. He sucks on my lips, plunges his tongue against mine, grips my head, my waist, my neck. Nothing is gentle. It’s frantic. Urgent. Desperate. Heat rushes through my body and settles between my legs, and my mind races. Is this actually real? His mouth is so firm, demanding, owning. God, he tastes so good.

My body turns feverish. I grind my greedy pussy into him, seeking friction, and… oh… his hard beautiful cock presses against me. I feel how much he wants me.

This is no longer a game. This is guttural.

I need to feel him. In my hands, in my mouth, on me, in me. I snake a leg around his, and pull him closer, as close as he can get. One hand grips my hair, exposing my neck, and his lips drag across the skin, biting, nipping, sucking, and pleasure zaps through me. The other hand drops to my ass outside of the robe, and squeezes. Tight, rough, hard. He’s leaving fingerprints, and I want it. I want the rage and the fire. The bruises and the pain.

I want everything.

He pulls me tighter, his mouth never leaving mine. I can’t breathe. His hungry, ravenous, fierce kisses steal all my air. My mouth is already swollen and I can’t get enough. Feed me. I want more. I need more. My hands grip his back, his arms, anything I can grasp to hold myself up because I’m so fucking dizzy. I’m feverish and ravenous and want him right fucking now.

My thong is soaked. I grind against him, nearly collapsing with how hard he is. I need more. My hands drop to his sweatpants and my desperate, shaking fingers fumble to untie. The sound of heavy breaths and fabric being tugged down makes me salivate. I reach inside his boxer briefs, and oh… oh Christ, his cock is perfect. I need it, now, filling my mouth. I need to taste and lick and suck… I break the kiss and drop to my knees. The cold hardwood floor is a stark contrast to the heat in my legs. I’m so hungry for him that I dive in, taking his cock into my mouth as far as I can in one motion.

“Fuuuuuck,” he hisses and holds the back of my head. One of his hands slaps against the wall, holding himself up, while the other remains protecting my head. I pull back, swirl my tongue over his crown, and moan at the masculine salty precum and smell of soap. He tastes so fucking good. I glaze my lips with him, lick down the silken skin and back up, savoring every part. His cock. His skin. His moans.

I’m making a man like Theo crumble. He can’t hold himself up without support because of me, because of what I’m doing to him. I’m high on power. He feels so good in my mouth. My palm grips him at the base. I wrap my lips tighter and slide up and down his thick shaft along with my hand, taking him in as deep as I can. I gag and choke. I can’t breathe. Hot tears run down my face.

And I still want more.

He’s swelling inside my mouth, his ragged breaths increase, and I want to feel him lose control. I want every fucking drop of him to fill my mouth and slide down my throat. I shove my free hand under my robe and rub my aching clit, moving, more, faster, harder…

He lifts me to my feet, tugs up his sweatpants, and grips the back of my head so tight that my breath hitches. “Didn’t I tell you that a woman’s pleasure is always priority?”

He crushes his mouth back into mine, claiming my breath. My knees buckle with the impact, my heartbeat pounds so loud, so heavy, in my chest, it throws me off balance. But I already know to the deepest part of me, Theo will never let me fall.

In any sense.

I’m clutching the muscles in his arms, his back, his incredible ass, desperate to get closer. My breaths turn ragged and choppy as I paw and tug at his tank top. He grips it from behind his neck and tugs it off and is he fucking kidding? In the alley, I felt his chest and torso, but it was rushed and frantic and I didn’t really know. God… the mouthwatering ridges, the deeply defined pecs, the hard stomach… I flatten my hand and run it down his body, feeling each solid line.

My robe slips, exposing my shoulder, and Theo sinks his mouth onto it, biting and licking, sending shivers through me. I’m melting. My body, my mind… wherever he’s taking me, I’ll go. He lifts me on to my desk, grabs the front of my robe and yanks it down.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful.”