And as I lift her into my arms, blindly carrying us toward the stairs, one word consumes me, heavy and loud as the thunder rumbling outside.
Mine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AMANDA
I’ve never felt so alive.
Every breath is searing and hot, or is it icy cold? Does it fill my lungs to the brink, or does it starve me for another sip of air? Is my heart beating wildly, or with the steadiest rhythm its ever known? Am I here, on Earth, touching this man, being touched by him? Or am I in a dream, a place so dynamically pleasurable it could never exist at all?
Yes.
And no.
All of it.
And none of it at all.
My feet don’t hit the floor until we’re in my master bathroom, and even then, Greg drops me only long enough to rip his vest and shirt overhead and kick out of his sneakers before his hands claim me once more. Those hands grip my hips and slam me into the towel rack, breaking it and sending the plastic pieces clamoring to the floor.
“Shit,” he says, breaking our kiss to stare at the damage.
“Fix later,” I murmur, and then I’m pulling him back to me, moaning when his warm mouth finds mine once more.
I hastily kick out of my own shoes, nearly twisting my ankle when I step on my sneaker once it’s off my foot before I kick it aside. Then I’m being pinned again, Greg invading every sense.
His leg is wet and cold when he presses it between my thighs, opening me for him, his hands sliding up my stomach and under my tank top. He lifts it, taking the vest on top of it with the motion, and I lift my arms, letting him peel the slick, freezing fabric off my skin.
The sports bra I’m wearing is thin, now practically see-through with how drenched we are from the rain. Greg groans his approval at the sight, both hands coming to palm each breast as he bites my neck.
I arch for him, leaning into the touch and gasping at the feel of being devoured by a man so sure, so confident, so desperate to be with me.
Biting my lip, I gather my wits long enough to tug at his shorts, and he understands what I’m asking, releasing his hold on me and stepping back so he can strip them off.
But he doesn’t do it quickly.
Instead, he backs up, farther and farther, my body trembling from the loss of his heat. With his eyes locked on mine, he slides his thumbs into the band of his shorts, tugging them down so slow I wonder if time has stopped altogether.
I follow the motion, chest heaving, heart pounding as I get an even better glimpse of the bulge that was pressed against my core just moments ago.
His shorts hit the floor in a soggy sloop, and then he smirks, stepping into me again and kissing me hard and sure.
“Arms up,” he demands against my lips, and when I do as he says, he slips his fingertips under the band of my sports bra and peels it up and over my head, what’s left of my messy braid hitting my back once it’s off.
My nipples ache and harden, the cold air even worse than the cool, wet clothing that covered them before. But one look at them and Greg groans, shaking his head as his hands reach out and softly palm them again.
“Goddamn, Amanda,” he growls, hissing as he rolls his thumbs over each sensitive nipple, and I whimper at the touch. He arches a brow, a smirk on his face. “You like being touched here, don’t you?”
I nod, panting, and Greg rolls his thumbs over each nipple again, flicking them and sending a hot zing of pleasure right between my legs.
“Do you like being kissed here, too?” he asks, and he’s already bending, already cupping my left breast and lowering his mouth to my peak.
I gasp, loud and wanting, when he runs his tongue over that sensitive area, flat and hot and wet. His tongue sharpens into a point then, flicking my nipple before he covers it completely with his mouth and sucks.
“Fuck me,” I cry out.
“Soon,” Greg husks, circling my nipple with his tongue before his eyes find mine. “And many times, I promise.”
I bite my lip against the smile curling there, but that smile slips in the next instant when he shows my right breast the same attention he did the left, and I’m a writhing mess, squirming and snake-like under the intense pleasure.
So long I’ve wondered what it would be like, to give in to that feeling buzzing between us. I wondered how he’d be with me, how I’d feel to finally have his hands on me, how his body would feel without an inch of space, or so much as a shred of clothing between us.
Now, with my hands running the length of his muscled back down to grip his ass firmly, with his mouth on mine, his hands traveling lower and lower toward my leggings, I know nothing I imagined could have ever come close.
It’s ecstasy.
Pure, evil ecstasy.
Forbidden and full of risk but consuming in the way only the best things are.
Greg presses me even more into the wall as his kisses travel lower and lower, from my lips down my neck, over the swell of my breast, down my stomach, until he’s on his knees in front of me, his fingertips dipping into the band of my leggings.
Seeing him there — this powerful, muscle-lined man — crouched in front of my belly, I can’t help but cower.
I cover myself, my arms wrapping around my middle as words I’ve tried to fight against creep in.
Greg pauses, frowning at the movement, and then recognition hits.
He grabs my hands, stopping me from covering completely, and he kisses each fingertip soft and slow before putting my hands in his hair.
“Don’t cover up,” he whispers. “Not with me.”
I nearly cry when he looks up at me, when I feel the soft tendrils of his dark hair between my fingertips.
“I want all of you,” he continues, and with his eyes still on mine, he glides his thumbs under the band and slides my leggings down, down, down. “Every beautiful inch.”
He drops his gaze then, and though my leggings are out of the way — my panties, too — they’re both still wrapped around my calves, the fabric wet and restricting. But I don’t have time to awkwardly step out of them, because Greg’s hands slip around my waist, diving down to firmly palm my ass.
And then, he lowers his mouth to my aching core.
I suck in a breath at the first contact, feather-light and hot as his breath kisses my skin before his lips do. It’s a gentle kiss at first, but it still makes me tremble, and when he runs his tongue soft and easy over my clitoris, I buck my hips into the touch and let out the loudest moan of my life.
Greg squeezes my ass in response, helping me roll and give him better access. One hand holds me steady as he blindly lifts my other, and I use my hands on his shoulders to balance as he haphazardly rips my leggings off that foot and rests the back of my thigh on his shoulders.
“That’s better,” he muses, and then he descends, and I see nothing but fireworks and stars and blazing sunbeams when his mouth covers me again.
It pains me to know I’ve missed out on this all my life, this enticing feeling of having a man on his knees for me, of having him lick and suck and kiss the most sensitive place on my body. I always thought it wasn’t a big deal, that I wasn’t missing much.
God, was I wrong.
I savor every moment, even tapping into Greg’s stupid meditation woo-woo and focusing on the very spot where he licks me to stay firmly in this moment. I memorize the pattern he uses, the way his tongue alternates from long, flat licks to quick, calculated flicks that build my orgasm like an active volcano.