R18 Crazy Want And Feel

R18 Crazy Want And Feel
His breath was ragged against her lips, his hands tightening around her waist as though he was afraid she’d disappear.
Seraphina’s head spun, her body alive with a fire she didn’t understand—one that only he seemed capable of igniting.
She should pull away. She should tell him this was a mistake. But when his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice rough and wanting as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me, Seraphina…”
A shiver ran down her spine.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as though he was the only thing tethering her to reality.
Adolphus pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes dark, stormy—consumed with something dangerously close to desperation.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
She blinked, dazed. “Say what?”
“That you don’t want me to stop.”
Her heart pounded.
Everything inside her warred between logic and need, between fear and reckless, aching want.
And yet, when she opened her mouth—
“Don’t stop,” she whispered again.
A sharp inhale.
A guttural growl.
And then his mouth crashed onto hers, taking, devouring, owning.
His hands were everywhere—skimming up her thighs, gripping her hips, sliding under the hem of her dress with deliberate, torturous slowness.
She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed every sound, tilting her head back as his fingers tangled into her hair, pulling, gripping—demanding more.
Her back hit the bed before she even realized he had moved.
Adolphus hovered over her, his gaze searing, his breathing ragged.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his lips trailing down her throat, teeth grazing, nipping, marking.
She trembled beneath him.
“Tell me to stop, Seraphina.”
But she didn’t.
Because she couldn’t.
Instead, her hands dragged him closer, her lips parting against his as she whispered, “Don’t you dare.”
A curse.
A groan.
And then there was no turning back.
Her heart pounded as memories flooded her—memories of stolen touches, heated glances, the way his hands had always felt on her skin, like fire and sin and everything she should have resisted but never could.
She had fought this. She had fought him. But right now, with his lips dragging over her throat, his hands branding her body like a promise he refused to break, resistance felt impossible.
She wanted this. Wanted him.
Even if tomorrow brought regret. Even if this was a mistake she’d have to carry forever.
Tonight, she would live in this. She would drown in him.
Her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, dragging his mouth back to hers in a kiss that was desperate, unhinged—starved.
Adolphus groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that sent heat spiraling low in her stomach.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he rasped, pressing her deeper into the mattress, his body hot and unrelenting against hers.
She looked up at him, chest heaving, lips swollen, and whispered, “Then show me.”
Something in his gaze snapped.
And then he did.
Seraphina barely had time to breathe before Adolphus was on her again, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. His hands—large, rough, possessive—swept up her sides, dragging the thin dress along with them, until the fabric pooled at her waist.
She gasped against his mouth, her body arching into his touch, already drowning in him. “You want this?” he rasped, his lips trailing down the curve of her neck, where he nipped and soothed with his tongue.
She barely recognized the voice that left her lips—breathy, needy. “Yes.”
That was all he needed. He tore the dress over her head and tossed it aside, his eyes darkening at the sight of her bare skin. His gaze roamed over her, hot and reverent, as if drinking her in was a necessity, a survival instinct.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with raw desire. He leaned down, capturing a hardened peak in his mouth, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, making him groan against her.
“Adolphus,” she gasped, her body burning beneath his touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation.
He kissed his way down her stomach, hands parting her thighs, spreading her for him. “Tell me you need me,” he murmured against her skin, his voice like a sinful caress.
She clenched her teeth, refusing to beg, but then he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against her inner thigh, his breath teasing her sensitive flesh. A helpless moan escaped her lips, and his chuckle vibrated against her skin.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Her head fell back against the pillows as he worshipped her with his mouth, with his tongue, sending her spiraling into pleasure so sharp it stole her breath. She writhed beneath him, gasping his name, trembling as he built her up, unrelenting, ruthless in his pursuit of her pleasure.
And when she shattered—when he drove her over the edge with the slow drag of his tongue and the press of his fingers—he followed her up the bed, kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips.
“Not done with you yet, Butterfly,” he whispered against her mouth, his voice dark and promising.
She barely had a second to recover before he was positioning himself between her thighs, the hard press of him against her slick heat making her body tighten in anticipation.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough, strained.
She did, and what she saw nearly undid her—his usual arrogance stripped away, replaced with something raw, something real.
Adolphus forehead pressed against hers as he eased inside her, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her in a way that made her gasp, her nails digging into his back. A guttural groan ripped from his throat, his fingers gripping her hips like he was afraid to let go.
“Fuck,” he ground out. “You feel… so damn perfect.”
She whimpered, shifting her hips, needing more. He caught the movement and hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening. “Patience,” he rasped, “or I’ll make you beg.”
She didn’t care. She wanted him. Now.
“Then make me,” she challenged, breathless.