Broken Juliet by Leisa Rayven Read Free Book Online Page A

then I maneuver him back against the wall so I can kiss a line down his chest. When I reach his abs, he starts cursing. When I take him in my mouth, he’s not even forming words anymore, just long, raspy vowel sounds.
    If I had the power, I’d have him always feel like this. Loved and worshipped. I’d melt away his doubts and insecurities with soft suction. Brush away his fears with reverent touches and low, appreciative moans.
    Before long, he’s gripping my hair and pulling me away. Then he’s kissing me with renewed passion. He pauses to unlace his boots and pull off his socks. I take the opportunity to kiss his back, his shoulder, his bicep. He comes back to my mouth, and I pull off his jeans and underwear. He’s barely kicked them away before he’s sliding down my panties.
    I’m not quite sure how we get on the floor, but we do. I push him down so I can taste every inch of warm, sweet-smelling skin. Every tense muscle and delicious groove. As I’m working on his chest, I’m vaguely aware of him pulling his wallet from his jeans and rolling on a condom.
    When he’s done, he pushes me onto my back and settles between my legs. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of him like this. Naked and glorious. He towers over me with eyes that are somehow black but also full of fire. He studies my face as he braces on one arm, his broad shoulders tense, and then I feel him, pressing forward.
    Oh .
    The sweet, ecstatic pressure.
    I look at him in awe. This feeling. This slow, intense filling. So different from the first time we did this. There’s still some discomfort as my inexperienced flesh gets used to being stretched, but there’s none of the previous resistance. No pain. Just the incredible miracle of one body joining with another.
    Within a few gentle thrusts, he’s inside, and oh, God, I’m not big enough for the inferno of feelings he ignites in me.
    His mouth is open. Eyes heavy and blinking.
    How can he possibly think we can’t work when we’re like this? This is bigger than fear. More important than doubt.
    He starts to move, slowly at first, his jaw clenched in determination. Then, his need takes over and he gains momentum. Every thrust brings him deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, and watch as his face morphs through different layers of pleasure. He’s magnificent.
    He tangles his hands in my hair. Kisses my chest. Suckles on my neck. Through it all, he’s moving, long slides that make me quake and gasp. Heat crawls up my neck as pleasure spins inside me. When he increases his pace, I know I’m making embarrassing sounds, but I can’t stop. He’s too much.
    When I can’t stand his beauty any longer, I look at the ceiling. It swims and sways. I give up and close my eyes. Lift my hips to meet him. Grip his lower back and urge him on.
    In the end, I just submit to panting. Adrenaline courses through me as I walk a tightrope of sensation, and when he reaches between us and presses his fingers in tight circles, I’m gone. Falling and flying at the same time, and giving plaintive voice to the long, heavy pulses that overtake me.
    I’m still spinning when he lets out a long moan. He bucks and presses in as far as he can, then he slows, and eventually stops. By then, we’re not even two people anymore; just one orgasmic, panting mass, clinging to each other with trembling limbs.
    Incredible .
    What more could two people want from each other?
    I let out a deep sigh.
    Ethan’s body is heavy against me, his face pressed into my neck. I run my fingers through his hair and try to get enough oxygen.
    “I love you, Ethan Holt,” I say, soft and breathy. “No matter how tough things get, just remember that, okay?”
    He tenses for a second, and just when I think my heart is going to bottom out from him not saying it back, he exhales. “I … I love you, too.”
    For the rest of the night, we don’t talk. We make love, time and again. In the shower, in the kitchen, on the sofa, and,