Page 52 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
She gives me the smallest smile.
I take her nipple into my mouth.
She grabs the back of my head with both hands and her breath breaks in a way that gets me somewhere urgent and low. I switch nipples and with my free hand I pinch the breast my mouth just left. She arches into me and makes a sound I'm going to be carrying around for a long time. I look up at her. Head back, eyes closed, chest rising fast.
My other hand finds the waistband of the sweatpants and slides inside. I find her hot and wet and I nearly lose the thread entirely. I set my jaw, trying to slow down, because this is worth doing right. I work her with my fingers and track every moan, every gasp, where she tightens, where she exhales, the way her hips roll forward asking for more.
Her breathing goes ragged. One hand still in my hair, the other gripping my forearm hard. I press my mouth to the curve of her shoulder and keep going, patient, paying attention, until she's rocking against my hand.
She moves her hand to the front of my pants. Presses her palm against me, slow and deliberate, feeling the shape of me through the fabric, and I exhale hard through my teeth.
"Take me out," I rasp.
She does.
Her hand wraps around my cock and everything sharpens down to a single point. I hold on. She finds her rhythm. Sure grip, unhurried pace, watching my face the same careful way I've been watching hers.
We move together.
She says against my throat, breathless: "Adrian… I’m going to—"
"I know." My thumb tight on her clit. "I’ve got you.."
She comes apart against my hand. Her whole body shudders, grip on me going tight and involuntary, and that finishes it. I follow her with my face in her neck, her name rough in my throat, my arm locked around her.
She collapses against my chest, shivering with small aftershocks while I run my palm down her spine.
I've got you,I think, my mouth in her hair.
19
SIENNA
I don't open my eyes right away.
The sheets are warm and they smell like pine and sweet figs. Adrian's scent. And just like that the memories of last night moves through me in no particular order. His hands on my body, his mouth on my throat, the way he said my name when he came.
Something soft taps my chin.
I open my eyes and the grey tabby is six inches from my face, one paw raised for a second tap, studying me. He seems to find my continued sleeping personally offensive.
"Good morning," I tell him. "You're very cute."
"I believe that's my line," Adrian says from the doorway. "And that's my spot."
He's barefoot in gym shorts, no shirt, a light sheen of perspiration across his chest and shoulders. I take a moment to take it all in.
He is over six feet of pure, defined muscle. Light blonde hair dusting his defined chest, a trail of it running from his navel down past the waistband of his shorts, thick thighs.
He’s leaning in a relaxed stance in the doorway. His grey eyes are lit with something warm and teasing that make my pulse start to beat with increased rhythm.
"Well… You shouldn’t have left your spot vacant," I tease.
He crosses the room. "I never miss my morning run."
He drops to sit at the edge of the bed, close enough that I can see the perspiration sheen on his forearms and shoulders. The cat immediately abandons me and climbs over his thigh.
"Besides." His eyes move lazily over me. "Something tells me I need to stay fit to keep up with a certain sex kitten." He wiggles his eyebrows with theatrical gravity.
