The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

as one. I stumbled in my heels as I was blindly urged to shuffle backward into the study. I felt wildly out of control when my fingers clawed at the snap of his jeans, but he had enough control for both of us. He caught my wrists and pinned them behind my back, slowing me down.

It was so he could kiss me how he wanted to, with my full, undivided attention. I sighed into his mouth, grateful with how he’d taken charge because I struggled so desperately with self-control.

He crossed my wrists and kept one hand on them but lifted the other to cup my cheek. His mouth moved against mine, and he persuaded me with both his lips and his hold to adjust the angle of our kiss.

I’d spent the evening being teased without satisfaction, but he kissed me as if he’d spent the last two months being taunted by my lips and now he was going to take what he was fucking owed.

His palm slid down along the edge of my jaw, his fingers trailing behind, and as his hand curled to rest on the center of my throat, the kiss ended. He brushed the pad of his thumb over my lips, and it was reminiscent of the way he rubbed at the indentation his ropes left on my skin. Did he think I needed soothing after something so intense?

Because he was dreaming if he thought he could wipe away the mark his kiss left on me.

His beautiful eyes were bottomless as he stared down into mine, and although there was no tension in his hand, it wrapped around my throat as a collar. Power flared through his expression like fire, and although I didn’t know his name, I knew this man. I’d met him plenty of times downstairs.

He was one half of the man who made my body sing and cry with agonizing pleasure.

I was still drunk from his kiss when he let go of my wrists and tugged at the waist of my shorts, popping the button free and then focused on dropping my zipper. And then it was a mad dash to get each other’s clothes off—or at least out of the way. We moved as if we were running down a steep hill, our hands struggling to keep up with the force of our momentum.

He got on his knees and jerked down my panties, but as they fell to my ankles, I stepped out of them and my shorts, and then joined him on my knees. His shirt was off, and his jeans were undone, but he hadn’t given me a chance to get them down off his hips. I’d had to stop when he’d pulled my shirt up over my head.

His mouth claimed mine and his fingers hooked one of the straps of my black bra, tugging it until the cup peeled down and my breast was exposed. A panicked whine drifted out of me. I’d had so much foreplay already, I wasn’t sure I could survive any more.

Had he sensed that? His arms went around me, lifted, and when I folded my legs around his hips, he leaned forward to set me down on my back. The smooth wood floor was cool against my feverish skin, but it wasn’t enough to tamp down the inferno raging inside me.

I was naked except for my half-off bra and my burnt-orange heels, and I clawed at his undone jeans, trying to get inside. By the time I had my hands beneath the stretched waistband of his underwear and wrapped around him, he was already hard. A hiss of pleasure came through his clenched teeth.

Earlier, I’d told the men I didn’t beg—but right now? I was close. A plea simmered just behind my lips. The need for him was fucking critical, like an unseen force was hurling us together and we had no choice.

Shit, I was half out of my mind, and he was too, so I didn’t stop him when he pushed his clothes down over his hips and out of our way. In fact, I encouraged him, lifting my hips to adjust the angle so he could slide deep inside with one urgent thrust.

“Oh, God,” I moaned with relief, louder than his gasp of pleasure. I threaded my fingers through the hair at the back of his head and held on when he began to move.

It felt incredible.

So different than the other times we’d done this. And that made sense because this was the opposite of our carefully designed sessions. Those scenes had been deliberate, planned to each detail, whereas what we were doing now was hurried and mindless.

No, worse.

It was thoughtless.

E’s thrusts were just as demanding as his kisses, and my bare skin squealed against the polished wood floor as he drove into me. Even when his mouth wasn’t on mine, his lips didn’t stray from my skin. They roved over my cheekbone, down the curve of my neck, and wandered to my breasts. It was like he loved the taste of me and couldn’t get enough of it.

His hips beat against me as his body pumped into mine, and my hands played over the muscles of his chest and arms. While his insistent mouth explored, I reveled in touching him.

Trapped under the heat of him, it took no time for my skin to become slippery with sweat. It was hard for him to get traction with his knees since his jeans cut across his thighs, so as we writhed and thrashed, we inched along the floor.

His groans of satisfaction filled my ear, and I raked my nails down his powerful back until I could clench a hand on his ass. I loved feeling the flex of him as he drove into me, and my hold, plus my legs wrapped around his, helped keep me from shifting too much.

Because the angle was just right.

Tingles began in my center, and goosebumps lifted on my arms. My heart raced along. All the warning signs of