“Grayson… please…”
I lift my head, meeting her eyes. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Her cheeks are flushed, eyes hazy with need. She hesitates for half a second, then whispers, “I’m yours.”
I reward her by pushing the head of my cock inside her, just the tip, stretching her open. She gasps, her walls fluttering around me. I stay there, barely inside, while I lick and suck her other nipple, rolling it gently between my teeth.
“Nobody can see you like this,” I whisper against her breast, voice low and rough. “Only me. Say it.”
“Only you,” she breathes, her voice breaking as I push another inch deeper. “Only you get to see me like this.”
I groan at her words and sink farther into her, inch by slow inch. Her tight heat grips every thick inch of my length as I fill her completely. When I’m buried to the hilt, I pause, letting her adjust while I continue lavishing attention on her nipples,licking slow circles, sucking harder, then soothing with gentle kisses.
I drag it out, keeping the pace slow and deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, grinding against her with every thrust. All the while, my mouth stays busy on her breasts, licking, sucking, and teasing her sensitive nipples until she’s trembling and gasping beneath me.
Her wetness coats my cock and drips down with every slow drag, the slick sounds mixing with her soft cries. I can feel her tightening again, her pussy pulsing around my length as another orgasm builds.
When she finally comes the second time, her whole body shakes, a broken cry tearing from her throat as she clenches hard around me. The feeling sends me over the edge right after her. I bury myself deep and groan her name, spilling inside her in hot, heavy pulses.
We stay locked together afterward, breathing hard, my arms wrapped around her as I kiss her damp temple and flushed cheeks.
“You can’t leave me now,” I murmur against her neck, and she lets out a breathless laugh.
My lips curve.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Miranda
The pan hisses when I drop the butter in, a small, angry sound that I find satisfying at seven in the morning. My braid is half-undone from sleep, my borrowed shirt smells like Grayson, and my muscles ache in the most delicious of ways.
He ruined me last night. There is no other word for it.
I crack two eggs against the rim of the pan, and the smell of warm butter rises into the kitchen. I’m in the middle of reaching for the pepper when two arms slide around my waist from behind. Grayson’s chest presses warm against my back. His mouth finds the side of my neck, and a small, startled sound escapes me before I can swallow it.
“What are you doing?”
“Flirting with my fiancée.” His voice is rough with sleep against my skin. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like a man trying to get a second helping before he’s earned the first.”
“I earned plenty last night.” His teeth graze my pulse point. “Twice, if memory serves.”
“Three times,” I mumble before I can stop myself.
I feel him grin against my throat. The hand at my waist drifts lower, fingers slipping under the loose hem of my pajama bottoms, and I crack the wooden spoon against his knuckles without taking my eyes off the eggs.
“Ow.”
“Down, Wolfe.”
“Miranda.” He has the innate ability of sounding so pitiful when he chooses to.
“I can barely walk today,” I tell him, and the smug little hum he makes vibrates through my back into my ribs.
“Tell me more.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”