The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 258

Chapter 130-1

Clam

The silence in the room isn’t quiet anymore. It’s charged with an electric heat that rivals the flames roaring n the grate.

.ocke doesn’t move for ten heartbeats. His eyes travel over every inch of me, from the slope of my shoulders down to my bare feet. There’s no trace of the exhausted, sick girl he’s had to nurse for months; he firelight catches the returning flush in my skin, tracing the curves of a woman who is whole again.

When his eyes finally rise to meet mine, the air in his chest hitches in a low, rough exhale.

Zara…”

No talking,” I say, my eyes locked on his. “No club. No Willow. No chemo. Just you and me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

.ocke closes the distance between us in two long, deliberate strides. He reaches for the hem of his heavy black sweater, tugging it over his head in one fluid motion and tossing it aside without looking.

The fire light dances over the solid, carved muscle of his chest and shoulders, highlighting the dark ink.

The heat radiating off his body feels like a physical wall.

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand cupping the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the jawline he’s kissed a thousand times in the dark. He pulls me in, dropping his mouth to mine in a kiss that isn’t soft or

esitant. It’s hungry, possessive, and deep… a man claiming his woman. Again.

slide my arms up over his broad shoulders, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his back, drinking him in until my lungs burn.

Locke breaks the kiss only to pull me down with him. We drop to our knees on the heavy, sheepskin rug sprawled in front of the hearth. The wool is thick and soft against my skin, insulating us from the chill of the room while the fire bathes us in pure, blinding warmth.

He lays me back against the pile, his massive frame hovering over mine. His hands are everywhere: tracing the curve of my waist, pressing firm against my hips, mapping the line of my ribs as if

reacquainting himself with every part of me. Every touch is a quiet reverence, a fierce declaration that I am here, I am real, and I am his.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” he says against my lips, his breath hot against my mouth. “God, you’re so fucking b eautiful.”

“I feel beautiful,” I say. “You make me feel that way.”

He shifts, his grip on my hips firm and steady as he pushes me deeper into the rug. I part my legs for him, yielding completely to the weight of his gaze, presenting my p***y without a single trace of hesitation or

shame.

He drops lower, his mouth trailing fire down the sensitive line of my throat, over my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts, across the scars on my stomach. I arch into his touch, my hands tangling in his hair as a groan escapes my lips.

12

Chapter 13

Clam

When his large hands slide down my thighs, pinning me gently to the rug, I lean my head back, letting the sensation wash over me. He takes his time, slow and maddeningly thorough, making sure every inch of my skin feels the heat of his mouth, his stubble, and his hands.

The rhythm is intoxicating… a’slow, building tension that pulls my muscles taut and sends electricity shooting straight to my core.

Locke’s head is between my thighs now, bis broad shoulders pinning my legs open, and his tongue drags slow and deliberate through the slick folds of my cunt. I gasp, fingers twisting into the rug as his mouth seals over my clit, sucking gently while two fingers slide deep inside me, reaching for that spot.

He knows exactly how to unravel me. His free hand grips my thigh, holding me steady as he laps at my entrance, then flicks upward in teasing strokes that have me arching, my breasts rising with each ragged breath.

But then he pulls back, lips glistening, breath hot against my swollen skin, and the climax slips away like smoke. His eyes meet mine, dark with hunger, and he presses a single kiss to my greedy, soaked p***y, leaving me throbbing and empty, desperate for more.

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