Page 165 of The American


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Nolan’s face is a picture of confusion as he nods mildly. What’s with him? Did he hit his head when he was run down? I cock him a questioning look, wondering where his gratitude is, as I take Doc’s shoulder and walk him out.

“I was just going to call you,” he says as I close the door behind us and he takes his bag.

“I heard you’ve been busy,” I quip, raising my brows. “Be careful, Doc, that ticker of yours isn’t as strong as it once was.”

“You’re a terrible man, Brad Black.”

I laugh to myself. “I know.”

“Anyway”—he looks up and down the corridor—“the results.”

I swallow, bracing myself, my stomach flipping. Fuck, am I nervous? “What about them?”

“All clear.” He walks off, and I turn, following him with my eyes.

“Completely?” I ask, not daring to believe it.

“As a whistle.”

I sag on the spot. Then straighten, my lips pressing together, my steps reversing back up the corridor, my dick singing its happiness. I push my way into my room and follow the sound of running water. She’s under the spray.

Wet.

Naked.

My cock weeps. I pull her out of the stall and throw her over my shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she gasps.

“It’s about to be oh my Brad.” I toss her on the bed and rip off my T-shirt and jeans before laying myself all over her.

She laughs. Holds my face. “Hello, again.”

“Hello,” I whisper. “I just saw Doc.”

“Oh?” She bites at her lip. “And?”

“And . . .” I shift up her body and fall into place between her legs. “I’m all yours, my love.” I push forward and sink into her slowly. And the feeling? It’s inexplicable. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, closing my eyes, the pleasure starting at my toes and rippling up through my body. I have to hold still. Absorb the feel of her tight muscles wrapped around me. “Good God, Pearl.” I’m fucking shaking with the exertion to pull myself back from the edge, my breathing controlled, and when I release myself from my darkness, I see her more clearly than I ever have before.

Red.

Mine.

“What?” she asks quietly, her gaze unsure as she studies me. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, lifting my upper body, needing to see all of her as I drive deep, pump slowly, grind firmly. I do know. I do fucking know.

Fuck.

She looks incredible, her body accepting, absorbing me.

Kiss her.

I fall to my forearms, claiming her lips, kissing her deeply, with more feeling and passion than I’ve ever kissed a woman.

“Brad,” she murmurs.

Coming.

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