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I needed to know why she suddenly believed she was the sinner in this scenario, but the blinking red dots of cameras never stopped recording. I had no way of knowing how well they could tape sound or if our every secret was being watched.
Tomorrow.
Once Q had arrived and Ily was safe, then we’d talk.
Truly talk.
I’d tell her that she was the only one in twenty-nine years to make me hope I could ever deserve someone to call my own. I’d tell her how grateful I was that I wasn’t alone in this. That I was thankful it was her.
For now, though…you will get off her and go and do what you came here to do.
With a grunt, I flexed my back to shift away. My hands landed on either side of her head to push up. And Ily’s reaction fucking lacerated me.
Her eyes snapped closed.
Her legs trembled around mine.
She bit her bottom lip as her hips arched just a little, a needy little mewl escaping.
Fuck
everything
holy.
I sank back down. I gave her my weight.
Her head tipped back with a moan.
Yep, I couldn’t do it.
Unable to fight her, utterly weak at the need pouring off her, I did the only thing possible.
I returned to the son who’d cared for a dying mother.
I recognised the symptoms of someone needing aid.
And…I gave it.
As selflessly and as clinically as I could.
Driving my throbbing erection against her uncovered pussy, I grinded her against the bed.
Mistake.
Big mistake.
Huge.
Ily sucked in a tattered gasp, followed by a full-body shudder.
I almost came.
From a single rock.
A clothing-covered, chaste little rock that blew my ever-loving mind.
I did it again.
