Page 32 of Reckless

I have no objections, so I lie underneath him as he strips off the rest of my clothes. My bra is the first to go, getting tossed over his shoulder. Then my pants and underwear, which suffer the same fate. He forces my knees to bend and holds them wide-open for his inspection.

My fists grip the sheets as he licks his way up and down my thighs before sealing his mouth against me. His tongue worships and torments my clit in equal measure. Sounds that are drenched in pleasure are coaxed from my throat. His hands keep my legs open, holding me hostage as he tastes me. No matter how much I want to move to increase the friction against his devilish tongue, he doesn’t let me.

I can feel the orgasm pool low in my stomach, a warm, tingling weight that spreads throughout my limbs. “I’m gonna come, oh God, don’t stop,” I whisper, and hestops.

I nearly scream.

He crawls up my body, and the desperate need I felt when we were stumbling to his room returns. There’s no room for finesse. “I’ll take my time later. I’ll give it to you nice and slow, but right now, I want you.”

“Fast, slow, I don’t care. Right now, I just need you. Please.”

I watch his expression as he positions himself at my entrance. The first inch has me throwing my head back and gripping his arms so hard I’m certain he’ll bruise, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He places my legs over his shoulder, which makes the next thrust even and deep.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and Griffin isn’t exactly small, but the pain isn’t even on my radar. “I’m okay.”

He increases his pace until I accept every inch of him. The tender tissues around him flutter against his intrusion, and I almost come from that alone. It feels so good, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m grateful when he maintains control, angling my hips so he can press even deeper until I’ve given up trying to keep quiet.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” I hear him growl.

I shudder at his words and try to hold back the orgasm because it feels so overwhelming, but it’s unstoppable. Inevitable. I arch my back as it rolls over me like an assault, violent and almost painful. I clench around him, milking him with my inner muscles until he’s murmuring, “Fuck, yes. Fuck. Come on my dick,” like the filthiest porn I’ve ever seen and want to watch again. He makes it sound sexy as hell.

Being with him is filthy and beautiful.

Wrong, and oh so right.

Chapter Sixteen

Griffin

A sound wakes me.

I grunt and sit up, confused.

Phoebe shifts, but she doesn’t wake as I slide from the bed. I take a moment to admire her lithe curves. I like waking up to her. I could get used to it.

My phone turns up in my jeans pocket after a quick search, and a look at the screen shows the time, 5:07. I must have fallen asleep holding her—abnormal for me. My MO is either to leave myself or encourage a quick exit. Better yet, not get involved at all. But it feels right to have her next to me, the scent of her surrounding me.

All I want to do is pull her closer into my arms and press my body against hers and fall back asleep, but the noise that woke me sounds again, and I turn my ear to the open doorway to my bedroom. It sounded like it came from the kitchen. It was too loud to be white noise, and a strange feeling tiptoes up my spine.

Someone is in my apartment.

My ears strain to hear over the sounds from the street and the loud ticking from my wall clock. It’s too dark to see clearly and just light enough for the shadows around me to be ominous. Maybe I’m being hyper-vigilant, but I don’t give a fuck.

I reach for the M9 I keep on my bedside table, but it isn’t there. In our hurry to get naked, I must have left it in my GT.

Stupid, stupid move. I know better.

I pull on my jeans, preferring not to catch whoever is in the apartment with my dick swinging. I keep the Taurus Judge my father gave me in my closet in a case, so I retrieve it along with an assortment of .410 and Colt .45 rounds. It’s a revolver, so it takes precious seconds to load the cylinder. The weight of the gun settles comfortably in my palm as I ease out of my bedroom and pull the door closed behind me as silently as possible. The weight of my phone is a comfort in my right-hand pocket. Maybe it’ll turn out to be nothing, but it’s better to be prepared just in case.

The sounds of movement coming from the area of the kitchen increase. Boots scuffing against the linoleum. Are they waiting for something? The rhythmic sound of footsteps makes me think the person is pacing. Anxious.

Whatever the reason, I’m glad it woke me up.

I don’t want to think about what could have happened if it hadn’t.

I reach the end of the hall and peer around the corner and see them. You’d think that after spending so much time in adrenaline-fueled situations, I’d become immune to the stuff, but not in this case. Sweat pools at the base of my spine and dampens my palms.