Page 95 of The Crowned Garza

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he lifts his head and starts toward me with long, purposeful strides.

Unsure of what to expect, I stand tall.

When he reaches me, no hesitation, he grabs my face and kisses me. Fiercely. Deeply. With fire. With passion. With reckless abandon. With promise and prowess.

All I can do is brace and take it.

An animalistic growl in his throat, he shifts me around and drives me back against the corner counter. He’s never kissed me like this before, with such fevered urgency, such stringent decisiveness.

He grasps my crop top and yanks it up over my head, tossing it aside. In a few quick movements, my bra is gone next. He’s impatient, possessed.

My breasts hang heavy, my nipples taut and aching. My body’s alive, hot, ready.

He nips and sucks at my neck, drags wet kisses down to my breasts, cupping them as he laves at them with his tongue, swirling, licking, sucking.

The moans escaping me aren’t cute. I could burst into flames right now I’m so hot, pressurized.

“Saint...”

In the gap between us, his hand dips inside my shorts and panties, and a gasp flies out of me when his fingers delve into my wet folds. “Ohhhh…”

He massages me, fingers slipping and gliding until I’m rocking into his hand, close to orgasm.

Just when I’m about to fall over the edge, he stops, then drags my shorts and panties down and off.

I toss a glance at the front door. The sane side of me wants to stop him, to move this to another room, in case any more of my family members decide to barge in.

But the horny, sex-addled part of me is too eager and desperate for whateverthis fickle man is willing to give right now. Too afraid to risk ruining the moment. He’s like a man possessed, deep in the moment, out of his mind with lust, passion, hunger. No chance I’m messing with that.

If we get caught, we get caught.

So I let him strip me bare, right here in the kitchen on a bright and sunny Saturday morning. My breath catches in my throat and my heart thrums in my chest when he begins undoing his pants. The prettiest part of him is about to make an appearance, the part that never fails to knock the breath out of me.

Seconds later, it’s free of its confinements, pointing at me, and I almost smile.I’m obsessed with it.

Wetting my lips, I begin lowering to my knees, but he grips my forearms to stop me. “Saint—”

“I have your records,” he cuts me off, voice strained.

“What do you mean?” Distracted, my gaze drops between us, watching him fist and squeeze himself. “What…what records?”

With a groan that sounds almost pained, he lifts me up and seats me on the edge of the countertop. His melted gaze meets mine and his jaw clenches. Torment and resolution swim in his depths. Seemingly torn but alsoconsumed.

So much energy. So much force. So much heat.

Those stormy eyes closes as he mutters, “Forgive me,” right before he seals his mouth to mine, grips my thighs with strong, unyielding fingers, and thrusts into me.

“Ohhhmygod,” I gasp in his mouth.

Caught off guard, my eyes snap open.

But his are closed. Chest rising and falling. Buried to the hilt inside me.

He fills me so completely, so perfectly. Like he wasmadeto fit right here inside me and nowhere else.

I part my lips from his and cup his face, sweeping my thumbs against his cheeks until he opens his eyes, meeting mine.