The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1) - Page 78

It was a frenzy after that, both of us fumbling with the other’s pants, a race to see who could undress the other first. Except my hands were clumsy. I wasn’t a virgin anymore, but this was still brand new. I’d never even seen him fully naked.

When our clothes were discarded piles around us, he yanked me away from the wall. I was walked backward, his kisses hot and greedy and distracting, and it was the bump of the hard edge of wood on the back of my thighs that announced we’d reached the table.

My heart was beating so fast but the rest of me was slow. Desire was heavy, filling me up and weighing me down, and it was what kept me from stopping Royce as he pushed me to sit on the table.

Anxiety turned tighter, screwing my throat closed and preventing words from coming out as his hands urged me down onto my back. He hitched one of my trembling legs over his shoulder, unaware of the panic that clawed in my chest, desperate to break free.

The table was hard and cold, and a man hovered between my legs, preparing to put his mouth on me, and it was too much like last time. It was way too much.

Somehow, I found my voice, and it sprang from me in a single, furious word. “No.”

I slapped a hand on his head and shoved him away, then reared back on the table. He pulled back, stunned and confused while watching me scramble to my feet.

He put a low hand out, in a gesture that said ‘steady.’ “What’s wrong?”

My gaze darted from him, to the table, and back again. I crossed my arms over my stomach. “Not like that. Not on the table.”

I’d never seen his eyes go that wide before as he realized what had caused the panic. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I—” He stared at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. “I wasn’t thinking.”

He moved toward me cautiously, like I was a wounded and unpredictable animal. Slowly, he reached for me, gauging my reaction. I allowed him to ease a hand onto my hip. To hesitantly invade my space.

“Tell me what you’d like. What you need.” He sounded and looked utterly serious. “Because I just want to make you feel good.”

I eyed the loveseat before turning my full stare back on him. “I want it gone. I need the memory wiped clean.”

His face twisted. He wanted to give it to me, but I’d asked for the impossible.

I set my palms flat against the plane of his chest and lowered my voice to a hush. “Give me something to replace it with.”

His expression was devastatingly determined. “I can do that.”

Gone was the urgent, frantic dash. Now, his movements were deliberate and purposeful. The heat between us didn’t flame out, it shifted and went underground, which was the most dangerous kind. We’d burn from the inside out, the foundation up, and there was no way to put it out.

While he kissed me, Royce’s steady hands smoothed over the lines of my body. He touched me with awe. His unhurried fingers skated sensually along my skin, lighting up nerves and setting off a cascade of sensations.

His methodical work made me quiver.

When he lowered himself onto the center of the loveseat, he gently grasped me by the elbows and encouraged me to climb into his lap. I put a knee on either side of his hips as he sat back with his shoulders against the cushions. We were caught in each other’s gaze when my damp center brushed against him. Just the tiniest contact, but my breath cut off. It felt exciting. And good.

His palm was still on my elbow, but it coasted up my arm. It traveled over my shoulder, slid up my neck, and continued until his fingers wove into my hair. His head rested on the back of the couch as he stared up at me, his eyes filled with hunger.

“I’ve never wanted anyone,” his voice was uneven, “the way I want you.”

Oh, my God. My heart faltered then picked up again, beating at twice the speed.

His other hand was on my waist, guiding me to move. To rock my hips against him and rub myself along the length of him. It elicited a sigh from us both, and I shuddered with pleasure. My movement adjusted my body on him, and as I went to settle back into his lap, the head of his cock was positioned right at my entrance.

He didn’t ask my consent, but he didn’t have to. He held statue still and left the choice to me. If I didn’t want to go further, all I had to do was lift off of him. Instead, I lowered myself on him, taking him inside me at measured pace. His lips parted so he could drag in ragged breaths as I crept down, and his head tipped further back, his eyes drifting closed.

Tags: Nikki Sloane Filthy Rich Americans Billionaire Romance
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