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Gripping her hips with both hands, Doogan concentrated on the pleasure, rather than the coming agony. Nothing mattered but this. The sweet lancing heat he could feel surrounding him, spilling from her, easing him.
Pulling back, watching the slick width of his cock stretching her flesh, he was still amazed she was taking him, stretching for him and begging for more. She was so tiny, so delicate . . .
He pushed inside her again, watching her take him. The need to cum was agony. Holding back wasn’t going to last . . .
Fuck.
Fire and lightning surrounded his erection, whipped through the sensitive flesh and arrowed so deep inside his chest he wondered if it had struck his soul.
She was so damned tight.
His fingers clenched at her hips, feeling her tighten further, her flesh rippling around him, the vibration of the erotic toy lodged in her pussy echoed to his cock, making each sensation stronger, deeper.
Ah God.
Sweat dripped into his eyes as he focused on that point where she stretched around him, watching her hug his cock, feeling her flex and tighten around him as he moved. He couldn’t stop moving. He had to fuck her, had to feel her like this, take her, bind her . . .
Whatever he’d meant to do when he began this, what he ended up doing was ripping away the lies she told herself and revealing a truth she feared would destroy her before it was over.
The sensations rocking her body, what he was doing to her, was more than just the physical act. The implications of it she might have enough brain matter left to ponder later, but she wondered for the briefest second, if she even wanted to consider them.
Restrained, at his mercy, nothing to hold on to but the instinctive awareness of trust or fear, Zoey learned she had the ultimate trust in Doogan.
The preparation, the penetration, and now the hard, heavy lunges of his hips, his flesh burying inside hers, rocking her to the core with so much burning pleasure she didn’t know if she would survive the coming cataclysm. But she didn’t try to avoid it either.
The explosion began in her clit, where Doogan tucked his palm between her thighs, allowing her to ride the sensations, to stroke the highly sensitive bud against his roughened flesh. That first detonation was all-consuming by itself. It ripped through her, jerking her body against his and setting off the explosion deep inside her pussy.
Her muscles clenched tight, dragging a groan from Doogan as he thrust into her rear channel, stroking the suddenly tense tissue despite the rapid-fire shudders and primal tightening of her body. When the powerful, soul-deep eruption reached its peak she screamed—or she tried to scream. Racking, heaving spasms attacked her as sensations so deep, so cataclysmic that they ripped through the very heart of her began setting off mini explosions of white-hot rapture.
She was flying through a storm of pure sensory awareness. Her body felt everything. The hard, jetting pulses of Doogan’s release shooting into her rear, the rasp of his flesh with each jerk of her body that raked her too-sensitive clit against his palm. The brush of the air. The feel of his heart racing against her back, the feel of his cheek against hers, his weight held from her by the strength of his arm next to her.
He didn’t mark her neck this time, but he didn’t have to. There was no reason to leave a mark for others to see ever again. He’d left his mark inside her, in her soul, and that would keep any other man from her bed far more effectively than a mark to her skin.
Then she couldn’t sense anything but the tidal wave of sensations as they converged and stole her ability to do anything but feel. The pleasure, the emotions suddenly running rampant through her heart, and the man behind her. And what she sensed there, she couldn’t hide from either. A man who refused to acknowledge that he could feel, that he could love.
The man who would break her was far too broken to ever be put together again.
Doogan lay with Zoey spread across his chest like a living blanket, boneless, recuperating after he’d released her, wiped the moisture from her body with a damp cloth, then dried her skin.
She might not be moving, but she was thinking, and she was thinking hard.
He’d known during that time he waited for her to return from her sister’s what he was going to do. Why he was doing it, he had refused to delve into at the time.
It wasn’t because she’d threatened her cousin with the possibility of a complete move and a relationship with two men known to give little mercy where the sensual pleasures they could give a woman were concerned.
It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d threatened to move in with one man, two, or a whole fucking unit. When the words slipped from her lips that she’d dare to allow another man to touch her, Doogan had existed on autopilot. Get to Zoey, take her, establish himself in the most intimate, the most instinctive way possible.
By marking her sensuality.
By owning it.
“Doogan?” The drowsiness in her tone was real, but he could feel what he had known was coming even before he’d touched her.
“Yeah, baby?” God, what had he done to both of them? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t lie to her.
“If I were really cold and called you, would you come keep me warm?” There was a note of amusement to her tone, as though it didn’t matter the answer. He knew the answer mattered, though.
“Every time,” he promised, knowing he would, knowing he’d be helpless against her need.
