The sight of him like this . . . beautiful. All brutal handsome lines and coiled muscle. The veins of his throat visibly strain as he drags in fistful of air after fistful of air. Big, broad shoulders tremble with unraveling control. On either side of me, his thighs fall open in silent invitation. Tearing my gaze away from his face, I stare at the briefs cupping his erection, the gray material already damp with pre-come.

He wants this.

He wants me.

“Say it,” I whisper.

His hand finds the crown of my head. I lift my eyes to his face just in time to see his expression darken with lust. “Fuck me, then. Put that gorgeous mouth around my cock and make me come.”

God. Yes.

The weight of his palm doesn’t relent as I pull the steel length of him free from his briefs. My entire body twitches with anticipation, need. If it weren’t for the fact that I instigated this entire power play of dominance, I’d sit back on my heels and simply admire the view.

Reid Paxton is a god.

Instead, I wrap a hand around him and relish in his throaty groan.

Beneath my left forearm, the muscles in his thigh bunch and release as his hips punch upward into my tight grip. Like he’s fighting some internal war, his fingers flex rhythmically in my hair. Pull me close, push me away. Hiding a satisfied grin, I drag my hand down to the root in the same breath that I touch my tongue to the ruddy head. A single swirl to lap up all that pre-come and—

“Oh, fuck—Laela.”

His hips rise again and again, chasing the warmth of my mouth. This time, I swallow him down. He slides over the flat of my tongue in fast, furious strokes that level the playing field and shift power back into his waiting hands. The soft carpet abrades my knees and tears sting the back of my eyes and I hear the breathy, pleading moan that saturates the hotel room like it’s been whispered in my ear.

That moan comes from me.

My heart is a wild, frantic thing inside my chest. His hand fists my hair, tugging sharply to keep with the pace he’s set, and my nails bite ruthlessly into his thigh. He holds me to him, those cognac eyes flashing with hunger each time that I bring my gaze to his face.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he grunts. “Every fucking night, I found you in the darkness and let you haunt me.”

Oh, God.

Arousal pools between my thighs at his gruffness, his honesty.