Page 57 of Forgotten Vows

I don't say it. Instead, I arch up against him, my hands fisting in his shirt, and he groans, his hips grinding against mine. He pulls back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I gasp. He's so fucking beautiful, chiseled like he's been carved out of stone, scars and tattoos covering most of his muscled chest and arms. And… my eyes widen as I see the tattoo right over his heart, in curving script more delicate than any other tattoo on his body.

It's a tattoo of my name.

My heart seizes in my chest, and tears burn in my eyes. As delicate as it is, the tattoo was clearly done by someone without much skill in tattooing—the lines are slightly blown out and wobbly in places. But I could care less about that.

My name is tattooed on him. All these years, he's carried me with him, a constant reminder of what he left behind.

I can't stop staring at it, at him. But the fear is still there—the fear of trusting him, of believing this could be real… and the anger at how he went about it all is still there, too.

He sees where I'm looking, and his voice softens as he speaks. "Your turn." His hands are on the hem of my shirt, and he pulls it up and over my head, tossing it aside. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, and I can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands shake slightly as he reaches for the button of my jeans.

I grab his wrists, stopping him, and he looks up at me, his eyes questioning.

"I want to fight you," I whisper. "I want to feel like I'm not just—just giving in."

His smile is dark, dangerous. "Then fight me, baby. Take it all out on me."

I twist away from him, trying to scramble off the bed, but he catches my ankle and drags me back. I kick at him, and he laughs, low and rough, pinning my legs with his body. His hands are on my jeans now, yanking them down, and I'm fighting him, pushing at hisshoulders, but he's so much stronger than me, and God, it feels good to struggle, to push back, to know that I could stop this if I wanted to.

But I don't want to.

My jeans hit the floor, and his hands are on my thighs, spreading them. I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, the way he's looking at me like he wants to devour me.

"You're so fucking beautiful." His voice is rough, reverence filling it as his hands slide over my skin. "I've dreamed about this, having you like this. Making you mine. You were all I ever thought of."

"I'm not yours." The words are a challenge, and he grins, dark and feral.

"Not yet."

He leans down, his mouth on my inner thigh, and I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets. His teeth scrape against my skin where he left the marks before, and I arch up against him, desperate for more. He laughs darkly against my skin. "Patience."

"Fuck patience." My voice is shaking, and he looks up at me, his blue eyes blazing.

"Say the word if you want me to stop."

"I don't want you to stop." The words are a plea, and he groans, his hands gripping my hips.

"Good."

He yanks my panties to one side, his mouth descending on me, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed. He's relentless, his tongue and teeth and lips driving me higher and higher, and I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly. My hands are in his hair, gripping tight, and he groans against me, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through my body.

"Lachlan—" His name is a gasp, and he pulls back just enough to look up at me.

"Come for me," he says, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me taste you."

Then his mouth is on me again, lashing at my clit, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise. I writhe under him, the desire to fight long gone in the absolute pleasure that's washing through me.What I want now is to come, and as his tongue slides over me, fluttering and sending jolts of sensation through me again and again, I feel the knot of pleasure unfurl, crashing through my body as he sucks my clit between his lips.

The orgasm crashes over me, and I cry out his name, my body shaking, my hands fisting in his hair. He doesn't stop or let up, drawing it out until I'm sobbing and begging him to stop. Only then does he pull back, his mouth glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, and then he moves up my body, his mouth on mine. I can taste myself on his lips.

I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he helps me, shoving his pants and boxers down and kicking them off. And then he's naked above me, and I can see all of him—the hard length of him, thick and flushed. He's as thick as I remember, long and almost pressed to his belly; he's so stiff, and I reach for him, wrapping my hand around him. He groans, his hips jerking forward.

"Adriana—" My name is a warning. I stroke him, slow and deliberate, and he trembles, his hands braced on either side of my head. A sense of power washes over me, seeing this dangerous man shaking from the feeling of my hand wrapped around his cock.

"I want you inside me," I whisper breathlessly, and he closes his eyes, his jaw tight.

"Not yet."