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“Are you hurting, Greta? Don’t be hurting, angel. God. Please.”
“I’m fine,” I gasp, though the pressure is intense. Intense, but fulfilling. With a promise of something more on the horizon. Something beyond my imagination.
“Thank God. Now ride it,” he instructs through bared teeth, his shoulders flexing against his restraint. “Rub your clit on Daddy. Like I showed you. What did I say about that sweet, little thing?”
“W-we take care of it.” I’m trembling, legs turning to jelly, but I grab hold of Eric’s massive shoulders and use them to propel myself up and back, up and back, a scream lodging in my throat at the new kind of friction. Dirty, slippery, sexual friction that I control. I’m in control of how fast or how slow, how tight the grind. And the power he’s given me makes my throat constrict with gratitude, because my God, it’s nothing short of glorious. Having this man straining, grunting, growing slick with sweat below, his arousal turning thicker, thicker between my thighs.
“Can’t take much more, little girl.” His head tosses on the pillows. “Fuck, it’s so tight. Tell me you’re close.”
“I am,” I manage in a rush, meaning it. Really meaning it, thanks to the slow contraction of intimate muscles between my thighs, pulsing where they cradle him. They squeeze violently and both of us groan brokenly, the pace of my hips kicking into a sprint, dragging my sensitive nub along his delicious length, my nipples riding through his sweat-slicked chest, our mouths in a furious tangle.
“That’s it. You’re fucking me so good, Greta.” He moans, clearly trying to hold back, to wait for me. “Eleven years? I’d have waited centuries for pussy this good.”
And then the wave crashes down on me, sinking me down to the bottom of some soundless purgatory of being right there, right there, before shooting me back up to the surface. To heaven, where the pleasure resides. I scream and bear down on Eric, my hips firing up and back, before pressing tight and holding, tremors wracking me head to toe, my sex pulsing through a release so powerful, it almost scares me.
Or it would have if it wasn’t for Eric’s mouth finding mine, his hips hammering forward and up, our flesh slapping loudly, his strapping body straining to the breaking point, my name on his lips when he blasts over the edge, pressing up forcefully into my body and flooding me with scalding moisture. Eyes blind, jaw slack, he fills me with disjointed pumps, sending rivers of damp down the insides of my thighs. Following instinct, I clamp down around him with the muscles of my sex and he barks a curse, another long spurt of relief entering me through his draining manhood.
I go limp on top of Eric, savoring the harsh breathing that stirs my hair.
“Untie me,” he croaks. “I need to hold you.”
Nodding, I somehow find the strength to move to the side, off his perspiring body so that he can give me access to his wrists. With spent fingers, I tug until the silk knot loosens and then I’m being tackled back onto the pillows, wrestled into the tightest, most secure hug of my life. One I never want to leave.
“Jesus, Greta. I…” His arms pull me even closer. “Don’t make me live without this, please. Don’t make me go back to living without you.”
When I came here tonight, my plan was to keep a part of myself hidden, sacred, but the doors have effectively been blown off of that plan. What just transpired between us wasn’t only sex, it was an exchange of trust and maybe some of our souls. One thing is for sure, I’m not going to leave this house tomorrow the same way I walked in…and with Eric’s arms holding me so securely, that doesn’t scare me. Not the way it should.
Chapter Seven
Eric
“Angel.” I kiss her bare shoulder, my heart squeezing at the adorable frown she makes into the pillow. “Greta, I have an early practice.” I move closer and lick the tip of my tongue down her spine. “Come with me. I don’t want to be away from you.”
“Come with you?” she mumbles, waking up enough to look at me from the corner of her eye. “Wouldn’t it be weird with my father coaching you?”
“He’ll have to get used to seeing us together.” I gather up her hair in a fist so I can kiss the back of her neck. “Especially since I’m bringing you on the road this season. Every season.”
Greta pushes up onto one elbow, fully alert now, and I see her start to panic. Maybe I’m pushing too hard too soon, but I can’t bring myself to take the words back. No. This girl owns me. She stole the heart clean out of my chest last night—no, even before that—and I will have her for my wife. I’ll have her for my everything. Right now, I would love more than anything to press her face down into the sheets and fill her full of cock while explaining very precisely into her ear that she’ll be walking down an aisle immediately. That she’ll be bearing my children.
