HE WAITED 1,095 DAYS TO CLAIM ME

Chapter 34

He closed the door with his foot.

The room was dark except for the security light making its arc outside the window, forty seconds of pale sweep across the ceiling, and then dark again. I didn't reach for the lamp. Neither did he.

His hands were at the hem of my shirt before I'd finished turning to face him. He pulled it over my head in one motion and dropped it and looked at me the way he always looked at me in low light, with the full weight of his attention, unhurried, like there was no clock running anywhere in the world.

There was a clock running. We both knew it.

Neither of us cared.

I reached behind me and unclipped my bra and let it fall and watched his jaw tighten as his eyes moved over me. He didn't touch yet. Just looked, the way he did everything, completely, without rushing the looking. His gaze dragged from my throat to my collarbone to my breasts, and my n*****s tightened under it before he'd laid a finger on me.

"Come here," he said.

I didn't move. I reached for my waistband instead and worked my trousers open slowly, holding his gaze while I did it. His eyes dropped. His chest rose on a breath he controlled carefully. I pushed the trousers down my hips and stepped out of them and stood in just my underwear in the sweep of the security light and let him look.

He crossed the room in three steps.

His mouth hit mine before his hands did, deep and immediate, no preamble, the kiss of a man who had been exercising restraint in a maintenance corridor for fifteen minutes and was finished with that. I kissed him back with the same quality and got my hands on his shirt and pulled it free of his waistband. He shrugged it off without breaking the kiss. My palms ran up his bare torso, the muscle tightening under my touch, and I felt him exhale against my mouth.

His hands went to my breasts.

He cupped them both, thumbs finding my n*****s, rolling them in slow deliberate circles until I made a sound against his lips that I hadn't planned. He swallowed it and did it again.

"Raze—"

"I know," he said. Not moving faster.

He walked me back to the bed and sat me on the edge of it. His mouth left mine and went to my throat, my collarbone, lower. His lips closed over my right n****e and his tongue worked it slow and his hand kept the other one occupied and my fingers went to his hair and gripped it and my head went back on its own.

He took his time with my breasts the way he took his time with everything that mattered. Thorough. Unhurried. His mouth moving from one to the other, his tongue drawing slow wet circles until both n*****s were swollen and I was shifting against the mattress with a restlessness I couldn't manage.

"Lie back," he said.

I lay back.

He hooked his fingers into my underwear and dragged them down my legs and dropped them off the side of the bed. He stood over me for a moment. The security light swept the ceiling. In its pale pass I watched him strip the rest of his clothes off, unhurried, watching me while he did it, his c**k already hard and thick by the time he was done. I didn't look away. My body clenched around nothing.

He came over me. His mouth went to my stomach, the inside of my hip. He pressed a slow open kiss to the crease of my thigh and I felt my hips lift off the mattress.

"Stay still," he said.

I tried.

He put his mouth on me.

His tongue found my c**t with the specific accuracy of a man who had been paying close attention, and I stopped trying to stay still immediately. My thighs fell open. My hands went to the sheets and gripped. He licked me in long slow strokes at first, learning the sounds I made, and then his lips closed around my c**t and he sucked gently and my back arched completely off the bed.

"God—Raze—"

He made a low sound against me that I felt everywhere.

Two fingers pushed inside me. Curled upward. His mouth didn't stop. He worked me from both angles simultaneously, his fingers finding the internal point that made my vision blur at the edges while his tongue kept its focused, relentless pressure on my c**t, and I felt the orgasm building from somewhere deep and structural, the kind that didn't arrive fast but arrived completely.

I came with my thighs locked around his head and his name dragged out of my throat with nothing composed about it. He worked me through every wave without mercy, his fingers still moving, his tongue gentling but not withdrawing, until I was shaking and oversensitive and pulling him up by the hair because my body had lost the capacity to absorb any more of it.

He rose over me. His mouth found mine and I tasted myself on him and pulled him closer.

"Inside me," I said.

He positioned himself and pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate and deep and I felt every inch of him, the thickness of him parting me open, my walls gripping and adjusting as he seated himself fully. He held still. Forehead to mine. Both of us breathing.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

He began to move.

Long, deep strokes, pulling back to the edge and driving home, each one deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt everything. The drag of him on every withdrawal, the fullness on every thrust, the specific pressure of him at my deepest point that turned my thoughts to static. My hips rose to meet him. His rhythm was patient and relentless simultaneously and I felt the second orgasm building before the first had fully finished.

His hand closed around my throat. Firm. Certain.

I clenched around him hard.

"There," he said, low. "Don't hide it."

He drove deeper and his thumb found my c**t and worked it in tight circles while he f****d me, and my hands raked down his back and my hips moved frantically beneath him and whatever composure I'd walked into this room with was gone entirely.

The second orgasm took me apart. My p***y clenched around him in long pulling waves and I heard myself cry out and stopped trying to moderate any of it. He f****d me through every second of it, his c**k driving deep and relentless, his thumb not letting up until I was shaking beneath him and gripping his shoulders and saying his name like a thing I'd been saving up.

His rhythm finally broke.

Both hands locked on my hips. He drove home and held there, buried completely, and I felt him release in long hot pulses, his groan low and broken against my throat, his body shuddering once with the force of it and then going heavy and still.

Neither of us moved.

His weight settled over me and I held it. Outside the security light made its arc. Forty seconds. The compound ran its routines below us. The morning was closer now.

His mouth moved against my temple. Not a kiss exactly. Just contact. Just him, staying.

"Forty hours," I said.

"Thirty-nine," he corrected.

I closed my eyes.

Close enough.