Page 79 of The Temptation of Roan Island

Every time he calls me Mrs. Roan, a thrill races up my spine and makes my head spin. I’m no elegant lady, no wife for a man like Shemaiah Roan, but every part of me wishes I could be. “I’m not going anywhere, husband.”

I know what we’re babbling is ridiculous, impossible. This can’t last. It won’t. But right now, I just want to imagine it can, and I’m grateful he’s willing to play into that fantasy.

With strength and speed only a Mavarri possesses, Shemaiah flips us. It happens so quickly I don’t have time to think about it. His arms hook under my knees, drawing me up and onto him as he kneels and thrusts, hitting a spot so deep inside my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Maiah!” I cling to the sheets, head swinging side to side, frantic for the pinnacle I’m already chasing. “Don’t stop. That’s… so… good.”

He grunts his agreement. Sweat mists his brow, muscles tense as he fucks me, lifting my ass off the bed. I’ve never been fucked like this. My small breasts bounce with the force of his movements. The headboard rattles against the wall, and the thought that someone might hear us has me flushed all over.

“Touch yourself,” he says, his hands occupied with lifting my thighs as he drives into me.

I stare at him wide-eyed, shocked at his suggestion. I’ve never done that in front of anyone before.

“Touch yourself,” he growls through gritted teeth. His muscles strain, veins popping in his arms and neck. Beautiful, masculine veins. “Now, wife!”

At the first brush of my fingers, I quiver and clench, my orgasm hitting me with such force I clamp down around Shemaiah’s cock. He curses and slams so deep it’s like he’s trying to leave a part of himself in me. The thought makes me shiver, extending my release. His forehead drops to mine as we both shake with pleasure. He kisses me. Once. Twice.

Then he pulls out, and I want to cry at the loss of him. “No,” I gasp, wetness gushing from between my legs. I draw my knees up, wanting to keep every drop of his release inside me.

“Oh, don’t worry, wife.” Shemaiah lifts me in one smooth motion and flips me over like he’s turning down the sheets. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He tugs my hips up and drives his hard cock back inside me.

“B-but you already came.” I gasp when he changes the angle and makes his thrusts shallow enough to never leave the place where I want him for long.

He chuckles. “And you think that’s going to stop me from fucking you until you can’t keep your eyes open? Fucking you right back to sleep so I can wake you up between your thighs the way you just woke me up? I’m Mavarri. I can go all night.”

“Yes,” I groan. “Do that.”

He squeezes my ass and pounds hard. “Grab the headboard.”

He helps me by banding an arm just under my breasts and lifting my body. The way he’s manhandling me, flipping, pulling, lifting, makes me hotter, needier. My hands curl around the tufted headboard and squeeze. His pumps grow increasingly forceful until my cheek is smashed against the green upholstery, my ass flush against his groin. Skin slaps skin. The bed creaks. I make noises I’ve never made before, wild and desperate noises. I sound like an animal, and Shemaiah’s my wicked beast.

“I’m going to bite you,” he warns on a gasped breath.

I barely get out a ‘yes’ before his teeth sink into my shoulder. Ribbons of light dance behind my eyes. My body blazes like an inferno. Veins wrung clean as Shemaiah sucks and sucks and sucks. My gentle, stoic man, completely lost in pleasure, replaced by a beautiful monster I could easily love.

Tears stream down my face as pleasure rips through my body, rending me apart, heart and soul. I want forever with him, not just a few days or months or, at most, a year. I want to build a life with him, a family. Goddess above, I want more children, little ones that are part him and part me.

With a savage thrust, his hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, and he roars my name. When the thrumming twitches of his cock still inside me, he licks my wound, dragging his tongue up my neck to my salty cheeks.

“You’re crying.” He startles and pulls back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” I reach back, grab his ass, and pull him close before he can get away. “No, Maiah, it was perfect. I just… I don’t want it to end.”

The sudden awareness that it will end nearly crushes me. It’s all well and good to play pretend while we’re fucking, but now that we’ve stopped, reality crashes back in like a sledgehammer.

Shemaiah’s quiet as he wraps his arms around me, settling me on his lap with my back to his chest. His head nestles into the crook of my neck, and I allow myself this moment of bliss wrapped in grief and loss. Needing his comfort, I twist, ignoring the gush between my legs and wrapping my arms and legs around him. He ducks his head, pressing his lips to my shoulder, and for the first time in my entire life, I don’t feel alone. A truth that makes me feel like I’m flying and falling at the same time, bracing for an impact that could destroy both of us.

I’m not sure how long we’re wrapped around one another before my heartbeat calms. The sun has finally kissed the horizon, brightening the room with white light.

“Let me wash you,” Shemaiah says.

“You don’t⁠—”

“I want to.”

Another thing I’ve never done with a man before. Martin and I usually took our pleasure in quick, secret meetings, back hallways and empty guest rooms. I was always left to clean myself up.