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A chest that holds a warrior’s heart.
Our eyes remain tethered as he crawls over me, and my hands slink around his back, grazing his shoulder blades. When he dips his head, his mouth finding the tender curve of my neck, I arch into him, my fingers crawling up to his hair. His erection grinds against me while his tongue laves up my neck, teeth nicking my skin until I whimper.
“June,” he whispers on a ragged breath, his mouth moving up to my ear and nibbling the lobe.
I wrap my legs around his hips and buck upward, seeking more friction. “Junebug,” I correct. “Call me Junebug.”
Something in the air shifts, and he stills. An angsty sigh hits my ear, sending a shiver through me.
“Brant…” I keep writhing, my body pleading. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just hovers over me, his warm breaths tickling my ear as his chest rises and falls against mine. Then he slowly lifts up on his elbows, his eyes hooded as he stares down at me.
I blink. “What is it?”
“I can’t call you that anymore.”
My grip on him tightens. His words slice into me one by one, piercing my skin and bruising my heart. “It’s what you’ve always called me.”
“I know.” He swallows, his gaze agonized. “That’s why I can’t.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.” He rolls off me, landing on his back beside me on the bed. His shorts are still tented with the evidence of his arousal. “You don’t understand what this is doing to me. It’s tearing me apart.”
A lump rolls down my throat, and I lean over, tentatively running a feather-light touch over his erection. “Brant, please…”
Brant snatches my wrist and in a quick flash is on top of me again. The agony in his eyes shifts to something almost volatile. “I called you Junebug beneath our childhood tree house as we played with ladybugs and read storybooks,” he growls out, his voice low. Laced with warning and a tinge of self-loathing. “I called you Junebug at your first dance recital when you could hardly pronounce my name and kissed my cheek, leaving your mother’s lipstick behind.
“I called you Junebug when I cradled you in my arms after a nightmare, and when I gave you piggyback rides through the backyard, and when I sang you sweet lullabies as you bounced innocently in my lap, your pigtails tickling my chin.” His teeth clench and bare as he stares down at me, my wrists clasped above my head, tucked inside his unyielding grip. “And you want me to call you that now? When I’m about to fuck you?”
I suck in a shallow breath, my fingers curling as he presses me into the mattress. My chin lifts. “All of those things share one thing in common,” I murmur as tears gather at the corners of my eyes. “And it’s not what you think.”
He shakes his head, rejecting the very notion.
I sigh. I’m not sure what else to say because I see it in an entirely different light.
All I do is raise my hips, rubbing against his erection until his eyelids flutter with the prelude to surrender. And when my head pulls up from the bed to steal a kiss, catching his bottom lip between my teeth, his lust-laced groan is the sound of defeat.
Brant dives into me, ripping my shirt over my head and fumbling for the button on my jean shorts. I squirm beneath him, wriggling free of the denim when he yanks the zipper down, and then I curl my fingers into the hemline of his shorts and tug them over his hips. His boxers follow, then my underwear, and we’re just a heap of desperate, shaky limbs, exposed skin and bare bones, clinging and stumbling as we tangle further into this web.
He fists my hair again, my neck and breasts arching into him as his mouth finds both. I gasp and mewl beneath his hot tongue, my hand reaching between us to grip his cock and guide him into me. I can’t wait. I need him to fill me.
“God, June,” he moans, his teeth nipping my jaw as he slips an inch inside. Then with one hand in my hair and the other dragging downward to clutch my hip, he slams into me all the way.
I cry out, biting my lip.
He starts thrusting.
Hard, fast, punishing.
He fucks me like he’s trying to wash away everything sweet and good between us, until we slip into the darkness where our sins are overlooked.
Where permission lies in wait.
Where we fit in.
Our bodies are half draped over the bedside, my feet scraping against the carpet for leverage until Brant slides me up the bed and climbs to his knees. My hips pop up from the mattress as he spreads my thighs wider and pounds into me, his fingertips bruising as they dig into my skin. The box spring squeaks in time with my shameless whimpers. His own moans fill the room as our skin slaps together, his cock ramming into me over and over.
