The Beauty Series by Skye Warren

his groan. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. He crowded her back against the wall.
    “I’ve got to go,” she said, even while she let her purse drop to the floor. Her wallet fell open on the tile, pens scattered as the contents spilled out, but she didn’t care about anything as long as he held her this way, as long as he surrounded her and ached with her. As long as they were together.
    “Stay with me. Never leave.” He turned his words into action, pushing his hands beneath her shirt and tugging it over her head. He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts.
    She bit her lip. “I couldn’t find my bra in the dark.”
    He cupped one breast reverently. “Beautiful.”
    She squirmed against the wall, aching for more. He was too gentle, too soft. He did it on purpose, the bastard. His tender admiration drove her crazy. She wanted more and harder and faster , and all he gave her was reverence.
    But she was not without power here. His body awoke whenever she was near, heating up, growing taut. The muscles of his chest rippled beneath her touch. His jaw clenched when her thumb gently scraped his flat nipple.
    He unzipped her jeans, and she slid them off with a wriggle of her hips.
    “I really do have to go,” she said, more breathless this time and with far less conviction.
    “I know. Just saying goodbye.”
    “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Her laugh was cut short when he slid two fingers between her legs, testing her—and finding her, she knew, slick and ready.
    Her sex still felt swollen and tender, not yet recovered from the pounding he had given her last night. Nothing like now. This was slow and lazy, but somehow just as urgent. Somehow more poignant, as he hitched one of her legs on his hips.
    Only a little foreplay this time. His fingers testing her, probing her. Then he pointed his cock to her core. She wound her other leg around him, and he slipped inside. She was supported by her arms around his neck, by his broad hands beneath her ass, by the wall at her back. Held suspended on his cock, writhing and wishing and begging for him to move.
    God, she needed him to thrust inside her, but she was completely at his mercy. And sometimes he could be a real bastard. A horrible tease. He nibbled his way down her neck, as if they were going to make out now instead of fuck. She wanted him so badly that she tensed up—she clenched around his cock. He growled and pushed inside her, deep and fast. She gasped from the shock and pinch of pain.
    “Sorry,” he murmured, and unlike earlier, she heard true regret in his voice.
    “More. Like that.”
    “I’ll hurt you.”
    Yes, she wanted that too. “Fuck me, Blake.”
    He shuddered in her arms. He always loved when she spoke dirty to him.
    She rocked her hips, the only movement she could make. “Fuck me like you can’t take it anymore.”
    His dark eyes burned. Slowly, achingly, he pulled back—and plunged in to the hilt. They both moaned at the complete and intimate contact. Stuffed full of his cock, impaled on his body, and yet yearning for more. Never enough.
    She whispered in his ear. “Fuck me like you’re mad at me.”
    With a pained groan, he let go. He shoved her hard against the wall and rammed inside her. Her body was held still, pinned by his, her mouth open on a silent cry of painful pleasure. His cock moved inside her, invading her, hurting her—and God, she never wanted it to stop. Never wanted to feel empty and nothing and unwanted again. This was desire and craving. It was consuming.
    Tendrils of ecstasy threaded through the roughness, teasing her orgasm, drawing it out until she sobbed with needing it, until she called his name. Blake, fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me, Blake. It was a chant, a prayer, but he was too far gone to hear her, too far above her to answer.
    He froze on a choked cry, pouring his seed into her. The twitch of his cock within the swollen tissue of her sex pushed her over. She let go in a rush of liquid and