That reverence was back in his tone and mirrored in his expression as he stared down at our connection. “I wish you could see how perfect you look filled with me. You were made to take my dick. Made for me.”
That time it wasn’t just my molecules that ignited. It was each atom of me. Bursting until there was nothing left.
He followed after, his cum filling me to bursting. He kept pumping until our mixed releases were forced out to trail down my thighs.
I started to fall forward, too sated and hazy to keep myself upright.
Rhys did it for me. Even after sliding free, his fingertips dug into my hips as he kept my ass up.
Staring at the mess we’d made.
I hid my head under the pillow.
Or tried to, at least. The fluffy blockade was removed and tossed to the side before I was suddenly rolled to my back. His bodycovered mine, and his hips fell between my spread legs to press against my overwrought sex. I gasped and hissed at the same time, making an absolutely wild noise.
He loomed over me, and I grabbed another pillow barrier.
I didn’t even get it near my face before it was thrown to land with the other one.
His brows were lowered. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me. Not any damn part.”
“I’m not hiding myself. I’m hiding you.”
Rhys tensed, his shoulders—that I had a clear view of since he’d stolen my shield—bunching. “Why?”
“Because if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to get horny again. And I can’t do that. I’ve already imploded. I don’t even have a body left.”
The bite mark on my shoulder. The swell of my breast. The dip of my waist. The flare of my hips. Rhys’s palm followed down the curves of my body, and his still half-hard cock twitched. “This feels like a body to me. The sexiest fuckin’ body I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“If I have to block out your words, too, it’s going to make talking very difficult.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
“So you want me to have a sleepless night?” His eyes went hooded at my words, and I rushed to amend, “Sleepless because I am overthinking things.”
He moved off me but only went far enough to switch our places. Once he was on his back with my body mostly on his, he asked, “How’d the rest of the night go? Is the building still standing?”
“I’m not that bad at my job.”
“Not bad at all. It was wishful thinking.”
“Did your meeting go that badly?”
“Have you ever heard of Sean Butler or Independent Results and Abundance?” he asked.
I scowled. “I’m familiar with both.”
Mr. Butler and the rest of his growing group were thorns in the precinct’s side. Not just our specific precinct. His reach spanned all of Boston to make it everyone’s problem.
The first time I’d met him, I’d thought he was a smarmy jerk who would try to sell me a house that wasn’t even on the market for double its value, but that he was a decent enough guy who seemed to care about the city.
That bit of goodwill toward him quickly vanished after the dozenth nitpicky complaint.
Unfortunately, the brass loved him and his support.
And his financial contributions.
The super PAC claimed they were dedicated to making the city a safer place. And some of them probably were. The fact Mr. Butler was a realtor whose income was dependent on property values made his motives less than selfless. Beyond that conflict of interest, the group also seemed to target anything they didn’t agree with. Permits for music festivals. The wrong kind offlowers planted. Holiday decorations. Noise, art, traffic, more noise. They’d never met a complaint they didn’t want to lodge.
