Page 107 of Beautiful Villain
A sharp smile curved my mouth.“Take what I give you.”
There was no hesitation left in him.The shirt came off and disappeared somewhere behind him.My hands went to his skin, warm and solid, marked in places.I traced his chest and felt the way his breath hitched, just a fraction, before he pulled it back under control.
“Bedroom,” he said, his voice rough around the edges.
“You know where it is,” I replied, and pushed him back a step.
His mouth twitched into that almost-smile, the one that never quite committed.Then something in his expression shifted, softened.He looked at me like he could not quite believe I was choosing him after everything we had been through.
I took his hand and led him down the hallway.
He followed.
In my bedroom, I turned to face him and slipped my top over my head.His gaze dropped, dark and intent, but he didn’t rush me.He stayed where he was, waiting, like the moment itself mattered.
Consent.Control.The line between him and Archie carved itself clean through the air.
I stepped closer and pressed his hand to my waist.
“Touch me,” I said.
He inhaled, sharp and slow, before his hands finally moved.They were firm and careful at the same time, palms resting on my hips, thumbs tracing steady, deliberate paths that made warmth bloom under my skin.
I kissed him again, deeper now, and he backed me toward the bed like he had been fighting the urge to do exactly that.When my knees brushed the mattress, I pulled back just enough to look at him.
He looked like a man who understood exactly what he was being trusted with.
When he came close again, I caught his face in my hands and made him look at me.
“Slow,” I said.“Show me what you feel…here.”
My hand flew to his heart, fluttering against his skin.
His eyes were steady, bright with something fierce and feral.“I’m all in, Mikayla.”
“Then stay,” I whispered.
And he did.
He kissed his way down my throat, his mouth tracing over my collarbone until he found the place where my pulse fluttered too fast.He lingered there, lips warm, hands steady on my skin, and it felt like he was speaking to me without saying a word.Every touch saidI see you.I feel you.
When his fingers finally slid between my legs, the reaction was instant.I sucked in a sharp breath, my hips lifting before I could stop myself, betraying me.
His gaze never left my face, like he was committing every reaction to memory—what made me tense, what made me soften, what made me fall apart.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured against my skin.
I laughed, breathless and shaky.“Don’t sound so proud.”
“I’m not proud,” he said darkly.“I’m starving.”
He kicked off his pants, then shoved his boxers down his legs, stepping out of them like he was shedding armor.A heartbeat later, he was standing there in front of me, bare and unapologetic, all heat and hard lines and dangerous confidence.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
I bit my lip, teeth sinking into the soft skin like my body needed somewhere to put the sudden rush of want that flared low and deep inside me.It spread slow and hot, curling through my stomach, sliding down my spine, leaving me weak in places I didn’t want to admit were already aching for him.
I didn’t give him permission to do this to me.
