Wilder

If I’d had a response it would have been swallowed by his mouth, inhaled by his kiss. He took my mouth completely, his kiss deep, thorough, and delicious. Our tongues rubbed and danced, and I gave myself over to the perfection of finally being in his arms.

I explored his back, the yards of smooth, warm skin that draped over his roped muscles. He felt exactly the way he looked—toned, strong, and sinful.

Jolts of pure want rocketed through me as he set his mouth to my neck, working his way down to my collarbone as his hands shaped the curve of my waist. “You taste so damn good,” he said against my skin. “Like strawberries and summer rain.”

He pulled down a strap of my tank top enough to free one of my breasts, and I arched, the tip already hard, wanting his mouth, his fingers—anything. “Perfect,” he said reverently, then swirled his tongue around my nipple.

I cried out, my hands flying to his head to hold him to me.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, lightly blowing over the skin.

Chills raced up my arms. “Yes,” I answered shamelessly. If all I ever had was this one night with Paxton, then I wasn’t going to waste it being coy.

“Good,” he replied, then took my nipple into his mouth completely. He licked and sucked, drawing every ounce of response from one breast before freeing the other to do the same.

His mouth was magical, sending sensations through me I’d long since forgotten—the rush of desire, the restlessness I knew instinctively that he could quell. But this need building within me, this primal demand to feel him deep within me—that was on a level I’d never experienced.

He tugged at the bottom of my tank top, and I lifted my arms as he pulled it off, leaving me bare to him. He studied me for a moment, his eyes dark with desire, and for the first time in the last couple of years, I felt beautiful, desirable, wanted—all because I felt like his.

He brought his mouth back to mine, kissing me with a hunger that had me whimpering with each deep, skilled thrust of his tongue against mine. He never stilled against my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, caressing me in ways that fueled the deep ache that grew stronger inside me.

When I draped my leg over his hip, he settled between my thighs. His weight was exquisite, holding my body to the earth while he gave my soul the freedom to fly. As he rocked forward, I felt his erection hard between us, and instead of shrinking, I rocked back, reveling in the friction against my center.

He thrust forward again, sending sparks through me as he hit my clit, the fabric between us only heightening the sensation. “Is that what you want, Leah?” he asked, his breath hot against my ear, his breathing bordering on ragged.

I whimpered again, answering him with another push of my hips.

He drew back, denying me the pressure I was desperate for. “It’s what I want. Except I want you naked, so I can feel all of your skin against me, taste the tiny beads of sweat I’ll work you into.”

I tried to roll up again, but he brought his hands to my hips, pinning me to the bed. “Paxton,” I whined, trying to reach to kiss him, to get any part of him I could.

“Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”

“Why? You know I want you. Isn’t that enough?” I asked.

His thumbs caressed my hip bones, but I wanted more. Needed more.

“No. I want the words.” He leaned down, dragging his tongue across my lower lip. When I tried to get more, he pulled back, no trace of teasing on his face. “I want to know that I have you on the same fucking edge you’ve had me dangling on for weeks now, desperate to know how you feel, taste, sound when you’re coming apart.”

His words—those sweet, seductive, dirty freaking words turned me up another notch, deepened the pulsing ache I had right where his hips were pressed. How the hell could I keep up with this man?

“Words give you power over me,” I admitted. I tried to roll my hips again, but he held me pinned, immobile. “You’re already the one in control.”

He lowered his head, dragging his tongue from the line of my pajama bottoms, past my belly button, through the valley of my breasts and ending at my neck before he kissed me. There was an edge of desperation to his kiss that hadn’t been there before, like he could kiss my compliance from me.

He damn near did. I would have done almost anything to keep him kissing me like that, but it wasn’t enough. My body was on fire, demanding a release I’d denied it for way too long.

“Control?” he questioned as he pulled away, those blue eyes digging into my soul in a way nothing else could. “Okay, I like being in control, especially when I have you underneath me. But the power is all yours. You just have to realize that I will do whatever you ask, whatever you need. I might control your body, but you control every…part…of…me.” He punctuated each word with a slight thrust against me, the pressure enough to send tendrils of pleasure through my limbs as if he’d caressed my entire body. “Now tell me what you want. I am yours to command.”

“I want your hands on me,” I answered. Then, before he could ask me where, I showed him, taking one of his hands and sliding it under the waistband of my drawstring pants.

He groaned, his forehead leaning on mine, his eyes closed tight while his fingers slipped under the pink lace underwear the hotel had brought with my change of clothes for tomorrow.

His hand stilled, covering me completely for a moment, like he was savoring it. I arched my hips up, and he gave in, his fingers sliding through me. His breath left in a rush against my lips. “Fuck, you’re so wet. I could slide inside you so easily right now.”