THE HEIR OF STORMS | Garrick Tavis

Chapter 25

Garrick pinned me against the stone wall, his massive body forming a barrier against the cold, igniting a fire within me. I missed that feeling—the way his mouth seemed to fit perfectly against mine and how his hands settled so perfectly on my waist. He held me like I'd slip away if he loosened his grip, his lips moving against mine with an almost desperate intensity. It was as if he was trying to erase the pain, the weight of the day, and I knew he wasn't the only one. The bitter taste of cigarettes mixed with wine, and my mind spun, leaving no room for thought—only feeling.

My hands rose to his chest, muscles tense under the warmth of his skin. I wanted to push him away, to resist, but my body betrayed me, responding to the heat between us, to the passion we had fought to ignore for so long. The way he held me, like I was the only thing keeping him grounded, was overwhelming.

His desperation seeped into me, turning the kiss deeper, more urgent. Every stroke of his tongue against mine sent waves of heat through me, and all I could think was how inevitable this had always been. Garrick was a force I couldn't escape, no matter how hard I tried.

When our mouths finally parted, it was like the air had been stolen from my lungs. I was gasping, and so was he, his eyes burning with an intensity I'd never seen before. He still held me tightly, as if afraid this moment might slip away from him.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, probably scenting the wine as well. I shook my head. "I need you. Right. fucking. now. And I need you to use words."

"Please."

"Please, what, Illena?" he whispered against my mouth. "What are you begging for?"

"Fuck me. Please."

Garrick spun me around, his chest pressed against my back, his tongue trailing across the nape of my neck. I arched, trying to feel his erection behind me, pressing myself against the stone. His hand gripped my neck, tilting my chin to make room for him. His desperate lips traveled along my throat, the other hand gripping my waist tightly.

I arched into him again, pleading. Fuck. He was so fucking hard.

His hands pinned me in place the third time, preventing me from moving, his teeth ripping the small button that held the back of my dress at my nape. The backless dress slipped down my body, pooling at my feet. My breath hitched.

"Garrick, what if—"

His hand that wasn't holding my neck slid between my legs, and I stifled a cry as his fingers brushed over the fabric of my panties.

"No one comes here, trust me," he said, desperate, his voice molten as his lips brushed my ear. His chest against my back felt like a wall, holding me in place, so deliciously strong. "Gods, Illena, you're so fucking needy."

He was probably talking about how soaked I was. I was always that way for him, and he knew it better than anyone. His fingers grazed my clit again through the fabric, and I moaned, throwing my head back. Garrick used the movement to slide his free hand along my throat, gripping me, cutting off my breath. I moaned, the sound reverberating against his fingers as they held me.

His fingers moved, and I would have protested if he hadn't done it just to slip his hand inside my panties. Two of his fingers slid along the wet heat, feeling me from the outside. He inhaled sharply, intoxicated, his hand gripping my throat turning my face just enough for his lips to meet mine.

"You're fucking dripping," he groaned against my lips. "You feel as good as you taste."

The hand on my neck tightened as his fingers circled my clit. My legs wobbled with pleasure, Garrick's racing heartbeat pounding against my back. Electricity surged through my body like a shock, energy crackling over my skin.