Page 72 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

And when her hand reached for it?

I caught her wrist midair and clicked my tongue—slow and smug—because she knew damn well she didn’t get to lead this time.

“Huh? I thought?—”

“This is for you, ” I growled.

“Yes, but Graham, what about?—”

“Shhh.” I pressed a finger to her lips, then traced it down—over her chest, between those perfect tits, to her thigh, where I inched the hem of her skirt up. My fingers slipped beneath and found the heat I knew would be there.

Slick and eager, and already ready for me.

I moved her panties aside and slid my fingers along her pussy, brushing her clit just enough to make her hips twitch.

She gasped, bit her bottom lip, and pressed into my hand.

Oh yeah. She wanted this.

Circling her clit with slow deliberate pressure, I watched her fall apart under my touch. She was soaked, trembling, desperate for release.

“This is going to take some acrobatics,” I murmured against her ear, “but you’re going to let me guide you.”

I paused my mouth brushing her temple.

“You trust me, right?”

Maggie

God, my pussy was throbbing. I wanted him.

Wanted to play, to unravel, to give him the full keyring to my body and just…

let him take me. Let him pull me under and make me forget everything—even if just for tonight.

Even if we were in her house. But the tension crawling up my spine wouldn’t let it go.

What if Portia had cameras? What if someone heard? I wasn’t exactly known for being quiet.

“Over here.” His voice dropped like velvet-draped iron as he took my hand, leading me to the edge of the tub where the statue stood tall in all its rigid, black-marble glory.

He dropped to one knee, reverent and commanding all at once. The overhead lighting caught the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows at his temples, the near-worship in his gaze.

“I need you to tell me you’re okay with this,” he said.

I paused.

And like clockwork, every single damn scenario played through my head: Getting caught.

Getting arrested. Portia walking in. My own guilt dragging me under.

What if there were cameras? What if this statue was cursed?

What if she was the murderer and I left DNA on her imported ancient Roman god’s cock?

“Graham, she could be the fucking murderer and we’re about to screw around in her bathroom—with her creepy, veiny statue—with?—”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded like I’d just told him it might rain tomorrow. Smug bastard.

Then he kissed me—just below my belly button—slow and deliberate. His stubble scratched and tingled over my sensitive skin, pulling a sharp breath from my lungs. Before I could think, before I could protest, he slid his hand up my thigh, slipping beneath my skirt again, like it belonged there.

His palm cupped my pussy, warm and steady, and I felt his fingers begin to move—just barely—but just enough.

Teasing.

Letting me know exactly who was in control.

It felt so damn good.

I pressed myself harder into his hand, needing more of that warmth, that grounding, that him against me. It was like my whole body leaned toward him on instinct, like he had some magnetic pull that overrode logic, overrode me.

Why did I get like this with him? All my sensibility vanished right out the window the first time we locked eyes.

Graham could’ve told me he wanted to fuck me in the middle of Town Square—with the a news crew covering the story, and I’d probably say yes without blinking. Just to feel him. Just to be his.

He unraveled every thread of self-control I had left.

I dragged in a breath, shaky and thin. “Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”

“Oh—you’re so fucking fun.” His rough voice rasped, sending a shiver through me. He patted his shoulder with a grin, like he already knew I’d obey. “Step up.”

I placed my left foot on his shoulder. He held out his hands for me to grab and then hoisted me up like it was nothing—like I was weightless in his grip.

God, I felt like a damn cheerleader in one of those Bring It On routines—only dirtier. Way dirtier.

I straddled his shoulders, legs bracing on either side of his neck as he positioned me in front of the statue. His hands held firm around my thighs, guiding me like I was a prize he refused to drop.

“Now,” he murmured, “lower yourself onto it. Your panties still to the side?”

I nodded. Bit my lip. Slid down slowly.

The cold marble met my heat, and I gasped—sharp and involuntary.

“God, that’s cold!”

The chill made me clench instinctively—my whole body reacting to the jarring contrast. It felt good, kind of… but not good enough to get me off. Not yet.

“You good?” Graham asked, his voice grounded like always.

“Yeah… I think so.”

“Okay. You can use my hands for balance—I’ve got you. You won’t fall.”

“Okay, but Graham—I don’t think I’m gonna be able to co?—”

Before I could finish, his tongue —soft, warm, and holy fuck— dragged across my clit.

A hot jolt of pleasure snapped through my spine like I’d licked a live wire. I gasped, my thighs trembling, nearly losing my balance?—

But he caught me.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even pause.

His tongue lapped at me again, then again, adding just enough heat to balance the cool, unforgiving stone inside me. The contrast was insane—stone-cold cock in my pussy, warm mouth on my clit, and Graham’s rough stubble scraping in all the right places.

My walls fluttered around the marble, gripping tight as I tried rocking a little. The statue wobbled. Shit. Do not break the ancient sex relic, Maggie.

I planted my palms harder into Graham’s, using him for support. He squeezed back—solid, unshakable.

I was basically in a squat now, perched above him like a goddamn circus act. If I had any upper body strength left, I could probably ride this thing properly… but the moment I tried to lift?—

He nibbled.

Right over the hood of my clit.

My hips stuttered, a sharp moan escaping me as pleasure pulsed through my core. The sensation was blinding—his mouth, his stubble, the wet slide of his tongue drawing slow, perfect circles.

Every kiss, every slurp, every fucking suckle sent me just a little higher.

I didn’t know if it was the adrenaline from possibly getting caught, the genuine fear of toppling face-first onto the floor, or the insane worry I might actually break the cock off this thing—but god, every nerve ending in my body was lit up.

Was I seriously about to come on a statue?

In a stranger’s house?

While being held up like a cheerleader on Graham’s shoulders?

This was so awkward.

I pushed myself up, gasping as the statue’s cold crown dragged over my inner walls, brushing a spot that made my thighs twitch.

It wasn’t that different from some of the more aggressive toys in my toolbox—extra rigid, designed for precision. On the right day, I craved that kind of pressure. And this? This was definitely the right day.

It helped that the damn thing was well-endowed. Not subtle. Not gentle. Just… massive and unyielding.

Perfect. Like Graham.

Graham moved with me, guiding my body as I rocked up and down, his tongue teasing my clit with infuriating expertise—licking, flicking, sucking like he knew every button and how hard to press it.

The heat inside built fast. Sharp. Blinding.

That ticklish, dangerous pressure started behind my navel.

Oh no.

I knew that feeling.

Shit. Shit.

“Graham, stop! I?—”

He broke contact and locked eyes with me. “What? Are you hurt? Did we go too hard?”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m about to—” I swallowed. “I think I’m gonna squirt. And I don’t want you to get all messy.”

He blinked once, then grinned like the feral, unrepentant bastard he was.

“You’re worried about getting me messy?” His voice dropped to a growl. “I want messy. I want you to come so hard they stop Portia’s speech to ask what the hell is going on in here. I want your legs shaking at the thought of walking out of here.”

His hands tightened around mine. “Now be a good girl and come for me.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s going to—oh!”

Before I could form a coherent sentence, his tongue was swirling around my clit again—slow, deliberate flicks that sent sharp pulses through my core, radiating outward like fire on every nerve ending.

The pressure built fast, deep, like a low drumbeat in my pelvis, tightening until the wave broke and crashed over me.

Stars burst behind my eyelids.

My toes curled.

I moaned—long and guttural—every inch of my body shaking with electric pulses that lit me from the inside out.

“Graham, I… I—oh?—!”

But I didn’t get the chance to finish.

He slid his tongue lower, tracing along the entrance into my pussy, then back to my swollen clit like he owned it.

The next orgasm slammed into me so hard and fast I convulsed, my body jerking against his grip.

I nearly launched off the statue, muscles twitching uncontrollably as I collapsed forward onto him.

My breath came in gasps. I couldn’t hold myself up. I couldn’t even think. I just… felt.

He caught me easily.

I slid down his chest, my fingers tangled in the fabric of his sweater, until my feet hit the floor. His arms locked around my waist, anchoring me as the aftershocks pulsed through my thighs.

God, I couldn’t even stand.

I tried to take a step to the side—and buckled.

Without a word, Graham scooped me up and set me on the counter, right next to the crumpled invoices. His palms swept over the small of my back, grounding me, soothing me—giving me the perfect come-down after the most insane orgasm of my life.

“Well, I think you rocked his world,” Graham chuckled, thumbing over his shoulder to the statue.

“The feeling’s mutual,” I panted. And when I glanced to the statue it had a smirk I didn’t notice earlier. Probably just a coincidence. But with my luck… not .

I turned on the hot water and grabbed the cloth from earlier, letting the steam soak into it. My hand moved on autopilot, not even thinking. I wrung it out, flipped the faucet to cool, and rinsed my other hand before pressing it gently to Graham’s forehead.