Page 92 of Full Throttle

Juliette’s breath caught. He was looking up at her with dark fire in his eyes, so infuriatingly handsome that something snagged in her chest like cotton on a chain-link fence. Oh, she thought dizzily, he really did love me. The realization left her breathless. His mouth ghosted over her wet heat, and she shuddered.

“I’ve got you,” Dominic murmured. “Let go.”

He finished her off with a firm press of his tongue.

Her orgasm ripped through her. Juliette cried out, gripping Dominic’s shoulder. She felt as if she were unraveling, as if crucial parts of her were coming undone, things that could never be put back together in the same shape or form. Please, she thought desperately, don’t let this ruin me.

When Juliette caught her breath, Dominic was standing between her legs. There was something intent in his eyes. His mouth was swollen and wet, and the sight of it made her want to look away.

What was it he’d said?

You destroyed me.

Juliette looked down. Heat burned in her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very naked. Dominic seemed to be waiting for a response.

She swallowed.

Swallowed again.

Juliette hopped off the counter. “My turn.”

She sank to her knees. Surprise flitted across Dominic’s face, followed by wariness. “You don’t have to—”

“My turn,” Juliette repeated firmly.

She reached for his trousers. Dominic let out a hissed breath as her hand brushed the hard length of him. Juliette worked at his buckle, and then paused as his length sprang free. Her first thought was that even in her most ludicrous fantasies, she’d never pictured this. Her second thought was that Dominic was going to be insufferable about this.

Juliette sat back on her heels. “Oh, fuck off, Hastings. You didn’t think to warn me?”

Dominic smirked. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up,” Juliette muttered.

He was still smirking, the smug bastard. Juliette studied him with renewed determination. She’d always liked a challenge. More than that, she’d always liked proving Dominic Hastings wrong. She took Dominic in her hand, and he gritted his teeth.

“Marchmont—”

Juliette’s tongue flicked over the tip. The sound Dominic made was exquisite, a hiss of breath between clenched teeth, and his hand fisted in her hair almost reflexively. Ridged veins strained in his neck, and he was so goddamn beautiful that it made something in her ache, like seeing a painting that was so lovely that you wanted to wrench it from the gallery wall with both hands and say, Mine.

“Do that again,” Dominic said hoarsely, “and I’m going to lose it.”

Juliette dragged her mouth farther down. “Show me.”

His eyes fluttered closed. “Marchmont…”

Juliette cupped him at the base, sliding her mouth to meet both hands. Dominic’s groan was almost inhuman, and she would have laughed if her heart wasn’t pumping so fast. His eyes were so dark that they looked like ink.

“You have no idea,” Dominic said, his voice ragged, “how long I’ve been imagining this. Seeing you like this now…” His grip tightened on the back of her neck. “I mean it, Marchmont. Stop. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Show me,” Juliette repeated.

She sucked him properly. Mercilessly. There was power in this, Juliette realized, her heart racing; with every buck of his hips, she felt stronger. More in control. She couldn’t take the length of him, but it didn’t seem to matter; Dominic let out a string of filthy curses. The tendons in his neck stood out, raised against his flushed skin, and Juliette had the oddest urge to taste each one, to run her tongue over the ridged skin.

Dominic’s breath was fast and ragged. “Don’t—I’m going to—”

Juliette took him as deep as she could.

Dominic came apart with a shudder, his hand fisting her hair. Salt exploded in her mouth. His eyes were wild, and he drank her in greedily, as if he were memorizing her, searing the image into his brain. His hips bucked with each thrust, but he was still in control, Juliette realized, her heart pounding. Even half-unraveled, Dominic refused to relinquish it.