Page 122 of Embrace

The hot friction of his jeans against my thighs drives me mad.

His kisses are warm and wet and everything I’ve missed for the past few days. And when I think he’s still being gentle, he flips me around, lifting my ass in the air.

“You don’t want gentle, baby?”

I moan into the pillow, feeling my arousal drip down my leg and right to where his hand hovers.

“Okay, I won’t go slow then,” he whispers, leaving a kiss on my neck. One of his hands lands right beside my face, and I stare at the stars tattooed there, the ones he lets me kiss.

“I know.” My voice is shaky and muffled, barely loud enough to hear.

Kian positions himself behind me, his hips against mine. The fabric of his pants feels harsh against my bare ass. His other hand moves down to my stomach, then lower until he pauses at my navel. “I won’t call you sweetheart.”

“G-good.” I stutter. It sounds like a lie. But this is how I want it. I’ve always wanted it like this.

“I won’t tell you how good you’re taking it, or what a smart girl you are.”

I’m quivering. My entire body is shaking so hard, I’m not sure if I can take any more of this. His deep, rumbly voice only makes it impossible to stay still under his hard grip.

“Won’t call you my sweet Scarlett or tell you how proud you make me.” He lets his lips dust the spot just below my ear. “I won’t do any of that, okay?”

He intertwines his hand with mine. Black ink fusing together. I can’t speak.

“Is that what you want, Scarlett? You want it hard? You want to be fucked?” He says it like he’s reminding me or giving me an out. To let him make love to me. I don’t know how.

“That’s what I want.” I say instead.

His harsh exhale creates goose bumps on the nape of my neck. But even as he’s rough with me, which is exactly what I asked for, he leaves a kiss on the crown of my head just before he pulls back. It happens so fast, I’m pretty sure he’s just pulled out his cock and drove in with one stroke. My first moan is on a choked gasp, barely making it past the hand he collars around my throat.

Kian drives into me mercilessly, and I mutter “More” every time he seems to slow down, like he’s still checking on me. Then as I move up and down the mattress, he places his hand against the headboard, cushioning the blow to my head.

With his arms around me, he pulls me up, holding me across my shoulders so he can pull my mouth back for a kiss. I can barely reciprocate it with how he thrusts into me. It’s so new, so unlike him, I cry out a loud moan, only for him to shush me.

I squeeze around him and he chuckles. “You like that? You want me to cover your mouth so you can’t scream?”

He does it then, almost covering my whole face with how big his hand is in comparison. And when he angles up and uses one hand to brush over my clit, I come and bite his hand.

He hisses right by my ear, and when he brings me back down to the mattress, his relentless thrusts don’t stop. But now I feel desperate to watch him, to see his face while he’s buried so deep in me, we’re completely connected.

“I want to see you,” I whimper, writhing underneath him.

Kian obliges, flipping me over, and caressing my jaw sweetly. All that roughness seems to disappear when his eyes are on me, and that flip lights me up all over again. I want to see all of him, and his jeans are ruining that.

When I reach for them, he shucks them off quickly. His cock curves upward, hard and erect, veins traveling down the shaft, glistening from how I came all over him.

I lick my lips, and when he notices, he parts my thighs again. But before he can push inside me, I wrap my legs around his waist, flipping both of us over until I’m on top.

I want to please this man until there’s nothing left in me.

He reaches upward, pitching my chin to look at him. I can’t stop moving my hips, and he can’t seem to handle much of it any longer.

“You wanna be on top?” Kian asks, his voice low as he tucks my hair behind my ears, both hands cradling my face. His touch is so gentle, so caring, it makes my throat tighten. He’s looking at me like I’m sacred, breakable. Completely ignoring how hard he is underneath me.

“I’m good at it like this.” I shift my hips, guiding him in slowly, inch by inch. His fingers press just a little firmer against my jaw as he watches, his eyes heavy and his mouth parting like he wants to say something but forgets how. I take as much of him as I can, my hands resting on his pecs.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, from somewhere low in his throat. It’s hard to tell when his face is twisted up in pleasure. But knowing Kian, he hears me. He always hears me.

I only do it this way because I thought it was what they wanted. I learned early that if I performed well enough, they’d like me more. Maybe they’d think I was unforgettable. Maybe they’d want me again. I built entire versions of myself based on what I thought they needed. And most of the time, it worked.