By the time we made it to the corridor, we were both panting hard. I could barely fucking walk with needing her.
“Goddammit, I can’t wait much longer.” Choosing the room I’d had when I first arrived, I threw her inside and locked the door. The décor was a lot different than the first night I’d spent here. The dirty wrappers, awful stench, and disgusting carpets were gone. It had a fresh coat of paint and blankness of personality that came with being a guest bedroom.
My mind skittered back to the incident that’d occurred in this room. I’d lost my virginity in here. I’d cheated on Cleo all because I was a fucking rehabilitated convict who’d somehow found himself the youngest ever president of the Corrupts.
For a second, I wanted to switch rooms but then Cleo wrenched off her top and stood before me in her shorts and black bra.
“Fuck.”
I launched myself at her.
The weight of missing her—of living a life of purgatory believing she was dead—suddenly dissolved. The last dregs of fear that she might disappear again faded and my hands shook as we tumbled to the mattress with our legs and lips locked in an unsolvable puzzle.
She gasped as I captured her nipple in my mouth, dragging her bra down to reveal her delicious flesh. Her skin was soft and supple, my suction fast and greedy. I plumped the heavy weight of her breast, kneading possessively. “Christ, I want you.”
“Then take me.” She hooked her legs around my hips, gripping my ass and tugging me into her.
I bit her swollen flesh, licking the slight salt from her skin. Her hands skated up my back to capture my head, holding me against her chest. Her breathing stuttered as I sucked her nipple and the words I would never grew tired of spilled from her lips. “I love you, Art. So damn much.”
Her fervent declaration slammed into my soul. My eyes stung. My hands fumbled. And my heart cracked open all over again.
Climbing her body, I shoved my hands into her thick hair and held her still. “As you wish, Buttercup.”
I love you.
Her face collapsed and fresh adoring tears glassed her eyes.
Her favorite quote from her childhood movie echoed around us, binding us closer.
I cradled her jaw, stroking her lower lip as a single tear escaped her.
My heart lurched. “Don’t,” I breathed. “It fucking shreds me when you cry.”
She reached up and kissed me. “It’s too much.” Her gorgeous emerald eyes captured mine. “How I feel about you. What you do for me. Finally being together. It’s all …”
“More,” I murmured, brushing my lips against hers.
I slid my hand reverently along her bare arm. I’d killed for her. I’d cried for her. And now I hoped I deserved her.
Lowering my hands, I fumbled with her shorts and pulled them free.
She squirmed as my fingers trailed between her legs.
“Fuck. You’re not wearing underwear.”
Her grip tightened around my shoulders. “I hoped something like this would happen.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
Her hands slid down my front, blazing a hot trail across my skin. “Get naked, Arthur. You’re wearing far too many clothes.”
I chuckled, suffering heart palpitations with the need in her voice. Rolling off her a little, I shrugged out of my cut and tugged on my neckline, tearing the T-shirt over my head.
“Much better.” Cleo caught the waistband of my jeans and unbuckled them in record speed. Arching my hips, I helped her discard every item of clothing I wore.
Reaching behind her, I unclasped her bra and smothered her. Naked to naked. Skin to skin.
“I’ll never get sick of this.” I kissed her.
“You never have to.”
Our lips met again and the urgency of before came back with every needy demand. Her fingers tightened around my cock, stroking me hard.
I growled, burying my face into her neck, biting her throat. “I have to know that you’re prepared for what will happen now. That you’re ready to do what needs to be done.”
She wriggled beneath me, rubbing her breasts against my chest.
I groaned as her fingers worked harder. “I’m prepared to face anything as long as it’s with you.”
I stroked her inner thigh, tracing her warm skin toward her pussy. She went rigid beneath me, vibrating for my touch. Her body was a seductive piece of art with tattoos and scars. I’d never met anyone so complex or unique.
She kissed me again, her teeth catching on my bottom lip and biting gently. She moaned; the sound of her pleasure slid over me like a caress. “Touch me,” she demanded. “Please …”
As I cupped her core, she bowed off the bed. My heart clenched as she grabbed my wrist, forcing me to touch her harder.
I thrust my cock shamelessly into her palm. “Goddammit, Buttercup.”
Her fingers curled tighter and I pressed two of my own inside her.
She gasped. “Yes …”
“Fuck, you make me insane.” I couldn’t hide the effect she had on me. I would never be able to pretend that I was the one in control. She was my master. My ruler. I was just her prisoner—content to do whatever she wanted me to if it meant I got to spend the rest of my life with her in my arms.
My chest tightened. I was the only one privileged enough to see her this way: hungry, wild, a firecracker just waiting to explode.
Spreading her legs, Cleo guided me with the hold she had on my cock. I groaned as I settled firmly in the V of her thighs and removed my fingers from her pussy. The wetness spread over her naked hip as I clutched her.