Page 47
“Now what?” I tease, my voice breathy.
Graham lets out a breath and closes the gap, trailing those hands down my backside. He lifts me like a weigh a buck nothing, and suck in a breath when he positions me over his cock. He turns and presses my back against the tiled wall, and in one swift motion, pushes inside me.
“Oh, God,” I whimper, digging my nails into his shoulders. He fills me so completely, it’s almost impossible to form a coherent thought.
Graham growls, the sound making his chest vibrate. “Not God, baby. Just me.”
He widens his stance and thrusts out, only to drive back in harder until the sound of skin-on-skin joins the melody of sounds filling the bathroom.
“G-graham,” I stutter, hooking an arm around his neck.
He bears his teeth and doubles down, all but fucking me into the wall.
I whimper and bite my lip, my stomach tightening as the tip of his cock rubs my G-spot in a steady, unforgiving rhythm. He bottoms out every time, creating friction over my clit, and it drives me wild. So wild that I want more, need more.
I reach between us and start rubbing my clit in a fast, circular motion, feeling the pressure building low in my belly. Another sensation catches my already scattered attention — the feel of Graham’s cock as he slides in and out. I part the lips of my sex, and shiver when I look down. Watching him disappear inside my body over and over again. His cock is thick with veins on either side that protrude from beneath his skin. It’s so damn sexy, watching him like this. It’s primal and raw and — he pushes inside me, and every thought flies out of my head because I‘m so close to losing it.
“Be a good girl, Anastasia, and come for me.” He bites my lip and snarls, “Now!”
My body responds the only way it can — in an explosion of sensation. My orgasm ripples through me with such force, such violence, and I scream. Graham lifts a hand to my throat and applies just enough pressure before pressing his mouth to mine. He kisses me through my orgasm, and when I feel him come, a second orgasm tears through my body.
“Fuck,” Graham exhales, pressing his forehead to mine. “Breakfast of champions.”
A laugh breaks free from between my kiss-swollen lips, followed by a growl from my stomach.
“You hungry?” Graham teases, mischief making the blue of his eyes seem almost iridescent.
Before I can say something like “duh”, he adds, “We’ll clean up and get you fed.” He kisses my nose, and lowers me to the floor, holding my hips when my legs shake. He chuckles and spins me around. I should probably be embarrassed.
The way my legs still feel like jelly, the way Graham catches my hips as I sway slightly, his chuckle vibrating against my shoulder as he steadies me. But I’m not. Because the warmth in his eyes, the way his touch lingers even after he lets me go—it does something to me. Something dangerous. Something that makes me want to pretend, just for a little while, that this isn’t a mistake.
He turns, stepping out of the shower first, reaching for one of the oversized charcoal-gray towels neatly stacked on the built-in shelf. He tosses one my way, then rubs a second one through his hair before wrapping it low around his hips. And damn it, it’s not fair.
The man was engineered in a lab somewhere, I swear.
I try not to stare, but it’s impossible. The way the towel sits on his hips, dangerously low, the sharp V-cut of his abs disappearing beneath the fabric. The way water clings to his skin, running slow rivulets down his chest. My throat dries. I am so screwed.
He catches me looking, of course. His smirk is lazy, knowing, and I immediately whip around, wrapping the towel around myself as if that will somehow salvage my dignity. It doesn’t.
His voice is warm, teasing. “Careful, Dr. Bellows. You keep looking at me like that, and we won’t be leaving this bathroom anytime soon.”
I glare at him over my shoulder, but it holds exactly zero weight, because I know my face is still flushed, my lips are still swollen from the last time he kissed me, and worst of all? He’s right.
Somehow, I manage to pull myself together long enough to get dressed in the clothes I left in his bedroom last night. A pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and socks because my feet are freezing against his expensive-ass hardwood floors.
By the time I step into the kitchen, Graham is already there, moving with the kind of effortless ease that tells me he’s done this a thousand times.
The space is open, sleek, modern—much like the rest of his penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city skyline, morning light spilling over marble countertops and gleaming stainless-steel appliances. But the real sight to behold is him.
Barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt that somehow makes him look even more devastatingly good, he stands at the counter, pouring two cups of coffee. His shoulders shift as he moves, muscles flexing beneath the fabric, and I swear, it should be illegal for a man to look that good doing something as simple as making coffee.
He slides one of the mugs across the counter toward me. “You take it black, right?”
I nod, still watching him. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He leans a hip against the counter, sipping from his own mug, eyes locked onto mine like he’s studying me. My fingers tighten around the warm ceramic, and I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling more exposed than I did when I was actually naked in his shower.
The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy. Charged.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to focus. “So,” I start, lifting my mug to my lips. “About that plan we need?”
Graham watches me for a moment longer, then smirks, tilting his head. “And here I thought I’d at least get you fed before you started making rules.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me, growling loudly enough that Graham outright laughs.
I scowl, lifting my mug higher to hide my face. “Shut up.”
His grin is all mischief. “Come on,” he says, pushing off the counter. “Let’s get you something to eat before you pass out.”
And just like that, the tension shifts, settles into something lighter. Something dangerous in an entirely different way.
Because I already know—whatever we decide?
I won’t be able to keep my heart out of it.
