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“Poor baby. I got you now. Fuck, I need you too,” he grunts as he undresses me. “I’ve been hard for you since breakfast.”

And with one swift tug, he rips my panties clean off.

Next, his mouth is on me, and he lifts one leg with a thick hand wrapped around my thigh and places it over his shoulder.

Then, my man devours me.

Kian growls, and the sound shoots straight through my core like molten fire.

He lifts my other leg, and suddenly I’m riding his face, my back pinned to the wall, thighs spread wide, and his hands gripping me like I’m something sacred.

And maybe I am. To him. He makes me feel like I am everything.

And I swear, I’m addicted.

His rough palms press into my inner thighs, holding me open, exposing every needy, dripping inch of me to his mouth.

My skin burns where he touches, and my heart races, and my body aches with anticipation because I know he’s not holding back.

Usually, a girl my size might hesitate at being hoisted up like a trophy, especially for something this filthy, this brazenly carnal.

But not with Kian.

Not with the way he holds me like I’m weightless.

Like I’m his treasure.

So instead of second-guessing, I give in.

I help.

I dig my bare heels into his back, grounding myself on the massive wall of muscle beneath his shirt, and the second I do, his tongue strokes up my slit in one long, sinfully slow pass.

From slit to clit, he laps at me like he’s dying of thirst.

“Oh fuck. More. Kian, gimme more,” I moan, head thudding gently back against the wall.

He answers with a growl so deep and primal it vibrates against my core.

“Taste so good, Mo Chroí,” he rasps against my soaked heat. “Sunshine and wildflowers. You taste like mine.”

And then he’s sucking hard, lips wrapped around my clit, tongue flicking in time with the two thick fingers he thrusts inside my soaking, pulsing pussy.

Three strokes.

Three pumps.

That’s all it takes before I’m screaming, my climax ripping through me so fiercely I swear my soul leaves my body for a second.

I’m trembling, panting, gasping his name like a mantra, and when I finally open my eyes, he’s staring up at me, whiskey gold gaze glowing with the beast behind the man.

His Bull stares through him, wild and reverent and full of that same ruthless adoration that always leaves me wrecked.

Holy shit.

He’s so sexy, so fierce. But it’s the way he wants me that makes my legs shake.

Like I’m his purpose. Like there’s no greater glory than my pleasure.