Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) by Rowe, Lauren (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

Savage smolders down at me, his face awash in lust. “That’s a good thing, since it turns out, you watching me making pottery turns me on.”

“What doesn’t turn you on, Adrian?”

He touches my face, smearing clay onto my cheek. “Nothing, as long as you’re nearby.” He bites his lower lip. “Take off your clothes for me, unless you want me to get clay all over them. One way or another, I want those clothes off.”

I rise and comply with his request, while he proceeds to peel off his own clothes, his clay-covered hands be damned.

When we’re both naked, Savage resumes his chair before me, his cock straining. So, I resume my prior kneeling position and take his erection into my mouth. As his pleasure ramps up, Savage reaches behind me, and a moment later, I feel the sensation of wet clay being smeared onto my bare back. And then, my left shoulder. My skin alive and my heart racing, I stop what I’m doing, pulling my mouth off him with a loud pop—and then dip my hand into the wet clay on the wheel behind me. When I turn back around, I smear clay across the grooves and ridges of Savage’s cut abs, while swirling my tongue across the tip of his cock.

When I’m finished painting his abdomen with clay, I lick him from his balls, all the way to his tip, and then purr, “Now you’re a real-life version of the David.”

“And you’re my Venus de Milo,” he replies, not missing a beat. He adds, “With arms, of course.” To emphasize that last point, he smears clay down my left arm, and then my right. He grabs more clay, takes my face in his palms, and kisses me. After that, he pulls me to standing along with him and smears even more wet clay across my belly and ass. He bends down and devours my breasts and nipples for a bit, making me shudder and moan softly, before smearing those areas with wet clay, as well. “You’re a work of art, Laila,” he whispers, his dark eyes blazing and his tone passionate.

I feel like I’ve got a jackhammer in my chest, as well as one between my legs. Breathing hard, I guide Savage back to sitting, gather some wet clay onto my fingertips, and smear it onto the bridge of his perfect nose. Shaking with arousal, I straddle him in his chair—he’s the hottest I’ve ever seen him right now, and that includes the times I’ve had drool running down my chin while watching him onstage—and then take Savage’s big, thick, gorgeous cock inside me, all the way, making him groan loudly as I slide down. I know when Savage suggested we get tested by a doctor, he wasn’t envisioning this particular scenario. But I can’t imagine a better way to kick off our condom-less adventure.

As my palms cup Savage’s cheeks, leaving clay all over them, Savage grips my back, leaving more clay on me. I move my body energetically on top of him, rubbing myself against him in just the right way—and soon, I find myself erupting with a delicious orgasm that causes me to scream loudly with pleasure.

As my body releases, Savage’s does too. He growls as he comes and clutches me, hard. For a long moment, we remain intertwined, our clay-streaked bodies slack. Our lungs working hard. Our hearts beating in tandem.

“So . . .” he says on an exhale. “Did you get inspired to write a sappy love song while I was railing you?”

I laugh. “I believe I railed you, sir.”

“And quite well, I might add.”

Smiling, I reach behind me and grab a handful of wet clay and then caress every inch of Savage’s smooth forehead, sculpted nose, chiseled cheeks, and steel chin with both sets of fingertips, like I’m a facialist at a fancy spa, and Savage is my client. “You’re so freaking beautiful,” I whisper, and his body underneath me physically shudders in reply. I nuzzle his nose with mine, stealing some of the clay I’ve wiped on him. “I feel drugged by you, Adrian,” I whisper. “I feel high as a kite when I’m around you.”

“Laila,” he whispers. And for a long moment, we stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us moving.

“Wait here,” I say. “Before this moment ends, I want to get a photo of you.”

He grabs my forearm. “No, Laila. Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t take a photo.”

I knit my brows. “But you look so beautiful—like a statue. I want to remember this moment.”

Savage’s usual swagger is nowhere to be found. He’s earnest now. Vulnerable. And breathtakingly beautiful. “For your own memories?” he asks. “Not to post? Because I don’t want you to post a photo of me like this with some cringey caption that says, ‘Look what happens when I try to teach my boyfriend to use my pottery wheel!’”

Oh, my heart. The look on his gorgeous face is making my heart feel like it’s physically twisting. “I only want a photo for me,” I assure him. “Not to post. Not to brag. Just to remember.”

Savage exhales and shoots me a lopsided smile that says more than a thousand words ever could. He drops his hand from my arm, freeing me to go, and whispers, “Only if you’ll let me take a photo of you, too, for the exact same reason.”

Fourteen

Laila

“Can you believe we’re heading into the final day of auditions?” Sunshine Vaughn says into the camera. We’ve been shooting auditions for the past two weeks now, assembling enough footage for the show’s editors to cobble together the first four episodes. Throughout the shoot thus far, Savage and I have been sitting side by side at the judges’ table, barely able to keep our hands off each other. If we’re not physically touching, we’re shooting each other lascivious looks and flirtatious smiles. When we’re offering our feedback to whichever contestant onstage, we almost always wind up playfully