No Damaged Goods

I could come just from rubbing on him, my breasts crushed against his chest, my nipples pert, my pussy dripping into the fabric molded against my flesh.

And I’m moaning, panting, practically drugging myself on Blake.

His stubble, his skin, his rock-hard muscle holds nothing back.

A soft cry slips out of me as he kicks his bedroom door open and practically throws me on the bed.

There’s a darkness in his deep-blue eyes. Pure inky smoldering depths as he gazes down at me, catching his thumb in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, tugging them down one sculpted hip, baring another hint of that oh-so-kissable, perfect, scarred body.

He looks like he’s been put through the wringer and come out of it perfectly honed. Every pain and torment he’s ever experienced just makes him hotter.

“Strip,” he growls, those bearish eyes raking over me.

I’ve never been one to give in when a man orders me to do anything.

But when Blake Silverton tells me to strip…

I want nothing more than to obey. To be naked before those eyes already burning through my clothing like he sees every inch of me and wants to devour me whole.

Yet there’s still a smidge of defiance left in me.

So I take my sweet time—smiling cattily up at him as I stretch against his sheets, catching the hem of my shirt, peeling it up slowly one inch at a time—and deliberately curving my spine to make my breasts rise against my lacy bra. I pull the shirt over my head, then toss it aside with a little flap of my hair.

And his eyes lock on to me, riveted, following my finger down as I trail it between my breasts, over my ribs, then lower.

Holy hell—lower.

His gaze blazes across my belly, making me suck in a gasp, savoring the hypnotic way he watches as I forge a path down to the waist of my jeans. Flick them open. Unzip.

My tongue skims my lips as I catch them at the waist.

And slink my hips from side to side, watching his pupils dilate with every second, as I shimmy them down my thighs to reveal the matching lace panties curving over my hips.

I never get the chance to take the rest off.

Because the second I toss my jeans aside, he growls.

“Fuck it—”

And next thing I know, he’s on me like a marauding beast.

His weight pins me down. His naked flesh ignites my body. His hands lace with mine, shoving them to the bed.

His mouth attacks my flesh in taunting bites, all swift kisses tracing my jaw, my throat, the upper curves of my breasts. He catches my bra and bites it away, grazing the tip of my nipple so gently.

Just enough pressure to make me gasp and cry out, tossing my head back before he soothes it with his tongue.

Then Blake’s mouth is everywhere, igniting me in wildfire sparks, torching my senses as he leaves wild marks all over me.

My arms. My belly. My inner thighs.

But still, no matter how I whine, no matter how I writhe, he won’t give up what I want. Not on my terms.

This man plays by his own rules, and he’s hellbent on making me beg. I don’t even have the words because he’s driving me out of my mind.

I’m lost.

Caught up in his storm, all the wicked things he does to me, the way he invades my senses.

His smell, aftershave and charcoal and heat, the scratch of his stubble on my skin, the flex of his body, the perfection of his weight.

God.

I can’t separate the noise of my gasps from the harshness of his hungry breaths.

I’m just spinning, falling, but then there’s a new sound, the rip and crinkle of a condom wrapper.

And that needy ache between my thighs he’s been ignoring flares harder, my pussy throbbing as he flicks my panties aside.

His thumb runs down my wetness. One stroke leaves me whining, squirming, flexing and clenching in rippling pulses. He spreads me open and makes me hurt with that hot emptiness, every ugly second he’s still not in me.

“Blake…” I whisper, grabbing at his hand. “Blake, please.”

One glance is all I get. So intense and flaming blue I’m not even sure it belongs to a mere mortal anymore.

Then he grabs his cock, presses the head against me, and bares his teeth.

A thick band of pure, hard heat slides against my wet flesh so sweetly.

“Hang the fuck on to me, sweetheart,” he whispers. I’ve never heard his voice sound more tender, more seductive, more husky. “Gonna take you now.”

I grasp at his shoulders, staring up at that gorgeous face. His eyes drill me like he’s never seen anyone else, like I’m his whole universe, and maybe his last freaking meal.

I’m just glad I listen and hold on tight as he tears my world apart.

No exaggeration.

I’ve never felt anything as intimate as the moment when Blake slides deep, bringing our flesh together like heart notes striking in rhythm—and God, that rhythm!