Page 152 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I grip her thighs, drag her to the edge, and bury my mouth in her soaked center.
Her cry shatters the silence. She locks her legs around my neck, threading her fingers through my hair, rocking against me like I exist only for this—only for her.
And I do.
Her legs clamp around me tighter, her hips rocking into my mouth like she’s desperate to fuse herself to me. I let her lead, let her grind, let her ride my tongue as if she’s in control—until I decide she’s not.
I pin her hips down, flatten my tongue against her, and lap up every drop, every cry, every tremor that runs through her body. She’s gasping, half-pleading, half-cursing my name, and it only fuels me more.
“Grant—oh fuck—” Her voice cracks, her thighs trembling.
I slide two fingers inside her as I suck her clit hard, curling into that spot I know will undo her. She bows forward, grabbing the back of the chair for balance, and then it happens—her body arches, her cry tears through the dark, and she shatters against my mouth.
I don’t let up until she slumps, panting, her legs falling open, spent.
But I’m not done. Not even close.
I rise, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss, letting her taste everything that’s been building between us. Without breaking away, I lift her off the stack of chairs and turn her toward the table piled high with catering trays. She steadies herself against the edge, still breathless, her dress hitched up around her hips.
“Grant—” she starts, breathless, but I’m already behind her, already dragging my zipper down.
“Bend over,” I growl, untamed, dripping with everything I’ve held back from this woman.
She obeys without a flicker of hesitation, folding forward over the table, her back arching in a way that almost undoes me on the spot. The sight of her offering herself to me like that burns itself into me.
I lean down, teeth grazing her shoulder before biting, then soothing the mark with my tongue. My hands find her breasts, molding them, her peaked nipples telling me she’s nowhere near finished with me, either.
My grip slides down to her hips, holding her steady as I push into her with one deep, unrelenting thrust. The air shatters with the sound of my curse—raw, jagged—because nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing but her.
She gasps, her fingers clawing at the table as I slam into her again—harder, deeper.
“Fuck, Eslin,” I grit out, leaning over her, pressing her down as I move inside her with relentless need. My breath is hot against her ear. “I want to be gentle. I swear I’ll make love to you later—slow, soft, like you’re lying on a bed of roses. I’ll give you that. But right now?” My thrusts grow sharper, rougher. “Right now this is mine. This is for every month I couldn’t touch you. Every night I spent awake, knowing you were with that fucking wanker. Knowing you belong to me.”
“Shit! Grant!” she cries out, her body shaking beneath me.
“I want to be gentle, baby.” I drag my teeth along her neck, groaning as her body tightens around me. “But you feel too good. Too fucking good.”
She pushes back against me, meeting every thrust, her whimpers mixing with my groans, the sound of us filling the empty ballroom.
“You’re mine,” I growl into her ear, pounding into her, sweat beading at my temple. “Say it.”
Her voice cracks on a moan, broken but certain all at once. “Yours, Grant. I’m yours.”
The words gut me and I swear they lodge somewhere deeper than bone. For the first time in months, the war inside me goes quiet. No questions. No doubts. Just her.
And hearing that—here, now, in this dark room that smells like wine and wax and everything we shouldn’t be—I believe her.
I still, burying myself deep as I can go, and let go. Emptying everything I’ve held back, pouring every ounce of rage, longing, and love I’ve carried into her. Giving all of me to this beautifully forbidden woman who undoes me without even trying.
I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how this will end, or what storms are waiting for us on the other side of this night. But I do know one thing with a clarity that cuts through every doubt—I love this woman.
As she straightens, her arm curling around my neck, pulling me close like she’s afraid to let go, I make a silent vow. To protect her. To protectthis.To guard whatever fragile, furious, beautiful thing we’ve built with everything I have left to give.
She’s mine now.
She’s home.
Chapter forty-five
