Page 195 of A Taste of Vanilla

Then a curse.

There she is. Loud and alive, mine—not in any way I have the right to claim, but in the way my body understands anyway.

Her hand slides between us, wrapping around the base of me where I disappear inside of her.

I nearly lose rhythm, and she smiles wickedly. “I think I’d look more beautiful with my mouth full.”

Every muscle in my body locks. “Halston.”

Her filthy smile turns triumphant, like she finally found the part of me that I’ve been trying to hide.

I grip her harder, moving again. Harder. The counter shifts beneath her, and her legs lock tighter around me. The angle drives me deeper, and she breaks from my mouth to gasp.

“There. Warren, right there.”

I keep that angle.

Her nails drag down my back, and the sting makes my control slip another inch. I grip her ass and pull her closer to the edge of the counter, driving into her in long, hard strokes.

Her sounds fill the kitchen in little broken pleas she would probably deny later if I were cruel enough to repeat them.

I’m not cruel. But I’ll remember every single one.

She hooks her arm around my shoulder, and I bring my lips to hers, biting into her soft flesh. When she moans, I bite harder. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave the shape of me there for a while.

Her head falls back. “That’s mine,” I say against the mark.

She trembles.

Her eyes are furious with want. “Say that again.”

“That’s mine.”

She shakes her head. “Change the first word.”

I give her this. “You’re mine, Halston. Every inch of you.”

Her nails dig into my shoulders, and her breath breaks as I thrust harder. “Again.”

I slide my hand to her throat, close it around her neck, and lightly squeeze the sides. Her chin lifts, and her eyes roll back.

“Look at me,” I say.

She does. Barely.

I move inside of her, deep and slow now, trying to draw it out. My mouth is close to hers.

Her pulse leaps. “You want to come inside me so bad, don’t you?” she whispers.

If I have any control left, it’s obliterated.

The question is obscene. Cruel. And she knows exactly what it does to me.

“Yes,” I say, because lying would be useless. “So badly.”

Her breath catches under my palm, and I loosen my grip, but she catches my wrist.

“No,” she whispers. “Harder.”