16
" God, yes. Please kiss me.”
He does slam into me then. Half lifting me to press me into the hallway wall, whooshing the breath from my body and his lips at first travel along the pulse in my throat and move up to steal the breath out of me.
We kiss as though it’s all we want to do in the world. His taste blooms through me, jig-sawing his lust to my own until I can’t see through the arousal I feel for him.
We’re panting when we part, but not too far. My fingers in his hair restrict him from moving from my mouth and I moan for more. He grins at my neediness.
“Do you have a preference, cara, bed or the couch in the den?”
I blink. Assaulted with his scent, it’s a wonder I still know my own name having him this close. Gabriella. See, I do know it.
“What?”
“You’re right,” he says with a grunt to his tone, striding off with me in his arms and he takes a swift left and down another hallway before climbing his townhouse stairs two at a time to the next level. “The bed is more spacious; I need room for what I want to do to you. We’ll get around to the couch when I don’t want to fucking eat you alive.”
Oh
Oh.
My whole being flatlines.
“Dominic.” I sound like one of those breathy hussies, but I can’t help it. With a few words and the way his two hands are squeezing my butt, I’m on fire for him. He rushes his mouth against my neck, striding down a long white hallway upstairs. “I know, cara. I fucking know, hold on for a minute more. "
― V. Theia , Manhattan Target (From Manhattan #6)
