All of Me (Confessions of the Heart 2) - Page 91
With something akin to anger.
Possession in the muscles that bowed and flexed and pulled taut.
Tension stretched the air thin, severity bounding through the enclosed space.
He suddenly pulled out of my mouth and jerked me off my knees. His hands went under my skirt, and he ripped down my panties, winding them off my heeled boots in the same second as he was spinning me around and bending me over the waxing table.
“You don’t have the first clue what you’re doing to me, do you, Angel Girl? Ruining me. Little by little. I want to mark you, Grace. Get so deep inside of you that you’ll never forget my name.”
Oh, there was no worry of that.
Surprise left me on a gasp, unprepared for the pleasure that sheared through me when he bunched up my skirt and thrust himself deep.
Hard and fast.
I jolted forward, hands darting out to the opposite side of the table, hanging on as he began to pound into me.
Relentlessly.
So deep and desperate, I could feel him capturing all of me.
Taking it all.
He rocked and jutted and fucked.
Driving me to the brink, pulling back, slowing and teasing, before he was driving me out of my mind again.
I was whimpering, hands clinging, heart a thunder where it beat through the confines of the tiny room.
“Do you feel that, Grace? What it’s like to feel like you’re losing your mind? This is what you do to me. Every second. Every day. You make me crazy. Make me forget myself. Make me think I might want things that I can’t have. You make me believe in the impossible.”
“You have me. You have all of me.” They were pleas falling from my lips, panted into the thick, dense air, and Ian was inhaling a rasping sound.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he warned, driving his dick deep, spreading my bottom wider, angling in a direction that had me losing all control.
Bliss so bright I was seeing spots.
The man holding me.
Controlling me.
Liquid. Fluid. A river that washed through the middle of me.
“I’m yours.”
Surprise heaved from his lungs, and his hands tightened their hold, and he drove deeper, harder, as deep and hard as his voice. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I rasped.
“All of you?” he demanded.
“All of me.”
He spread me wider, the feel of him almost more than I could bear.
So perfect and wrong.
The man my heaven.
The man my hell.
Everything I wanted, a tease of what I could never keep.
“You make me forget everything that’s important to me,” he grated. Confusion and anger spiraled out like a complaint, and he was running his fingers through the crease of my bottom, fingers touching me in places I’d never been touched.
I groaned out a surprised sound, half mortified, the other half pushing back. Begging for more. For everything this man could give me.
“Ian,” I whispered through my own confusion.
Delirium.
The man the fever that raced through my veins.
“Do you like that, Grace? I’ve had that mouth and that sweet pussy. Would you give me this, too? If you belonged to me, would you let me take it?”
Rawness bled from him. Sheer, masculine dominance. Power and strength. Anger and ire.
But I wasn’t afraid. Not even close. The only thing I was afraid of was him letting go.
“I already do. I belong to you in a way I’ve never belonged to anyone else.”
He instantly slowed, yanking a mournful cry from my mouth as his strokes became long and measured. As measured as when he swirled a fingertip around my ass before he was slowly pressing in two.
“Like that?” he murmured. A caress. A promise. A threat.
I wanted to moan. To beg. To weep. All I could say was, “Please.”
He pushed his fingers deeper and deeper.
More and more.
Taking and filling and ruining every inch of me.
Because just like I knew when I’d first met him, I was never going to be the same. Ian Jacobs was going to scar me in the best of ways. In the most profound of ways.
“Yes,” he hissed. “Fuck, you are perfect.”
It felt so full and so wrong and so perfect, and I swore, I could feel every cell in my body come alive.
As if every single nerve ending was riding the sharp, bitter edge of ecstasy.
Everything alight.
Fire and flames and need that glowed white hot.
Pleasure as he began to rock and fuck, fingers moving in sync.
His breaths shallow and his pleasure palpable, the man barely hanging on by a thread.
“Nothing . . . nothing has ever felt better than you, Grace. Nothing. Not once. Not ever. Everything is better than the last. Every look. Every touch. Every time I take you. You. Are. Everything.”
That’s what I wanted to be.
His everything.
But I knew it was impossible, and still I wanted it all.
So, we rode on our blissful torment, my hands planted on the bed as I began to meet his thrusts. As he touched me in a way that made my sight blur at the edges and my heart speed out of control.
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