Page 41 of Forbidden Fruit
“I’m not yours,” I whisper, even though I don’t sound like I believe it.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes. “Then be mine.”
My breath hitches.
“Stop thinking. Stop trying to stay in control.”
He steps closer, his breath brushing my skin. “Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you.”
His restraint is hanging by a thread now, I can see it, feel it. “I want you,” he says, voice dropping lower. “I need you.” A pause, soft but devastating. “Just tonight, Peach. Let me have you. Just this once.”
I blink up at him, throat tight, chest rising and falling too fast.
“I can’t,” I start, voice trembling.
“Yes, you can,” he cuts in, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to figure anything out. Just be mine. Let me handle the rest.”
Everything in me trembles as his lips hover, barely a breath from mine. I can’t think with him this close. The ache between my legs returns with brutal vengeance. It’s been too long, far too long, and living with a man like Calvin, a manwho radiates sex and control like it’s stitched into his DNA, is not for the emotionally fragile.
Right now, I feel like I’m unraveling.
His other hand clamps down on my waist, fingers digging into my flesh just hard enough to leave a bruise. My knees almost give. My stomach knots, heat surging low in my belly, and I can feel embarrassing slickness building between my thighs.
“Say yes.” His breath brushes against my lips, taunting, coaxing, promising.
Every nerve in my body begs for release. For him.
“Calvin…” His name breaks out of me desperately, my tears slipping free. I want this. I want him. So badly it burns. But ugly, insistent guilt claws at me. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t need him.
But maybe… just maybe… if I give in for one night, if I let myself have him, maybe I can walk away after. Maybe I can get him out of my system. He might be all talk, no game anyway.
“Yes,” I breathe, my voice almost lost to the space between us.
The second the word leaves my lips, he crashes into me.
His mouth claims mine with brutal intensity, no hesitation or softness, just pure hunger. He bites my bottom lip, then licks over it, demanding entrance. I give it to him without thought, without resistance. His tongue tangles with mine, and I lose myself in him, his taste, his scent, the sheer weight of him.
He yanks me flush against him, and I gasp when I feel his cock, already hard, pressing against my stomach. The fire ignites instantly, licking through me, wild and unforgiving. His control wraps around me like a tight, inescapable chain. And I don’t want to escape.
“Fuck, Peach, you’re quickly becoming my addiction,” he growls against my lips, his voice thick and gravelly, a sound that turns my bones to liquid. His arms lock around my waist, lifting me with maddening ease as my legs wrap around him instinctively. His hands grip my ass, kneading with sinful intent as he kisses me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that’s ever satisfied him.
In one fluid motion, he spins and throws me onto the bed. My breath catches.
“Shirt off. Now.”
The command slices through the haze in my mind. I scramble onto my knees and strip my shirt off in one hurried motion, heart racing as I do exactly what he says. The heat in his eyes makes me feel completely exposed. Seen.
“Fucking perfect.” His voice is low, like a prayer he doesn’t want me to hear.
I move to unzip his pants, but his sharp voice stops me cold.
“No.”
I freeze, confusion flickering across my face like a warning light. Is this it? Is he stopping this?
Then, slowly, deliberately, he slides off his tie.
My breath rushes out in a shaky exhale. Thank God.
