“Is it because I could trap you with a baby?” I whispered my deep fear—of becoming my mother.
His harsh eyes softened, and he leaned forward, swallowing me in his arms, planting soft, intoxicating kisses along my neck. “You’d never trap me, little nun. But I could trap you. So say your fucking word.”
He was hard at my entrance, so close to being inside me.
“No.”
He crooked his neck, jaw tense, nostrils flared. Then he slammed inside me.
“Fuck,” he groaned into my shoulder, muffling the noise.
I grabbed his shoulders as he moved inside me, the marriage license rattling. I wrapped my legs around his, urging him farther. I buried my face in his neck, so I didn’t see the flower wall, trying to scrub away the why and where of this moment in him. His warm neck, his strong arms, his intoxicating scent.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “I want to fill you up until I leak down your thighs.”
His dirty words sent shivers up and down my spine, and somehow had me aching, even as he was inside me. I wanted that too.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Yeah?” his voice was hoarse. “Please what?”
He sped up faster, harder, holding the desk for balance as it rattled against the wall.
“I want you to come inside me.”
“Fucking say it again.”
“Please come inside me.”
As I spoke, Pachelbel’s Canon started. Lottie would make her appearance soon, but we were already too far gone.
“More,” I whispered, delirious.
“That fucking word,” Gray said, a delicious cocksure tease to his words. “More what?” He dragged out my lip with his teeth. The canon grew louder, masking his groans. I gripped his taut butt, flexing. He bit my shoulder, my neck, kissing my ear.
“More of your cock, more teeth, more—” Grayson slammed into me, and I broke off on a scream. He covered my mouth.
Because he had to.
Because his wife was walking down the aisle—to an empty altar.
Tears fell, and he grasped my face, kissing my cheeks, kissing away my tears, before finding my lips and consuming me in a long, soul-deep kiss. Sucking me. Consuming me.
For how wrong it was, but how much I wanted it.
His cock worked an evil, delirious rhythm inside me. I could feel every ridge, every throb, and he was hitting that perfect, amazing, addicting spot.
I scratched the wall behind me as pleasure started to hit too high, and he grabbed my wrist, putting my hand against his neck.
I blinked. “I’ll hurt you.”
“Do it,” he growled.
“But—”
Grayson thrust, and I dug without thinking.
“Fucking mark me, Story.”