Page 136 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
I roll her beneath me, pinning her to the mattress with my weight. She gasps, her eyes flying wide, but there's no fear in them. Only heat. Only want.
"Tell me to stop," I growl against her throat, "and I will. Tell me you're too tired, too overwhelmed, too anything, and I'll hold you until you fall back asleep. But if you don't tell me to stop—"
"Don't stop." She arches against me, her hips seeking friction. "Gabriel, please. I need you."
I've never undressed someone so carefully.
Every button, every zipper, every scrap of fabric—I remove them like I'm unwrapping something sacred. She trembles beneath my hands, her breath coming faster as I bare her to my gaze.
God, she's beautiful. She was beautiful before, but now—knowing what she carries, what she's become—she's transcendent. The slight new fullness of her breasts. The barely-perceptible curve of her lower belly. The flush that spreads from her cheeks down her throat to her chest.
"You're staring," she whispers.
"I'm worshipping."
I lower my mouth to her breast, drawing one tight nipple between my lips. She cries out, her back bowing off the bed, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"Sensitive," she gasps. "Everything is so sensitive now—"
"Good." I switch to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. "I want you to feel everything. I want you drowning in sensation."
I kiss my way down her body—the valley between her breasts, the soft plane of her stomach, the jut of her hipbones. I linger at her navel, pressing my lips to the skin that shelters our child.
"I'm going to watch you grow," I murmur against her belly. "Watch your body change, watch you bloom with my baby inside you. I'm going to worship every inch of you, every new curve, every stretch mark." I look up at her, letting her see the ferocity of my devotion. "You're going to be so beautiful, Poppy. You already are."
"Gabriel—" Her voice breaks on my name.
I spread her thighs, settling between them, and press my mouth to her cunt.
She screams.
I eat her like a man starved—licking, sucking, devouring. She's drenched already, slick with arousal, her taste flooding my senses until I'm drunk on her. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find the spot that makes her writhe, and work her with my tongue until she's sobbing.
"Please," she begs. "Please, I need—I can't—"
"Come for me." I seal my lips around her clit and suck. "Give me the first one."
She shatters with a wail, her walls clenching around my fingers, her whole body convulsing. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks ripple through her, until she's boneless and gasping beneath me.
"The first one?" she manages weakly.
"I'm not nearly done with you."
I strip off my own clothes with far less ceremony, too desperate to be inside her for any more teasing. She watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, her gaze tracking down my body to my cock, hard and aching.
"I want to be gentle," I tell her as I settle between her thighs. "I want to take my time, make love to you the way you deserve."
"I don't want gentle." She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me closer. "I wantyou. All of you. Don't hold back."
I sink into her in one long stroke.
The sound she makes—pleasure and relief and desperate need—mirrors the groan that tears from my own throat. She's so tight, so wet, so impossibly perfect that I have to hold still for a moment, buried to the hilt, just to keep from coming immediately.
"Move," she demands, raking her nails down my back. "Gabriel,move."
I obey.
The rhythm starts slow—deep, grinding thrusts that drag over every sensitive spot inside her. But I can't maintain it. The need is too urgent, the pleasure too intense. Within moments, I'm fucking her hard and fast, driving into her with an abandon I've never allowed myself before.
