Page 87 of But For You

“You’re mad at yourself, not me.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t have to; I saw it.

“Let it go,” I said, wrapping my hands around his wrists. “I’m delirious that you’re here.”

He nodded, and when I lifted toward him, I heard the catch of breath.

Still.

After so many years, I still made the man breathless. It was a gift.

He sealed his mouth over mine and wrapped me up in his arms, using all his power to press me against him, our bodies aligned, tongues tangled, our kiss intimate and languid. I belonged to him, and he could hold me for as long as he wanted.

My arms twined around his neck as he lifted me off my feet, hands on my ass. I slid my legs up his thighs to his hips and tightened them. The whine in the back of my throat made him clutch at me, his big, rough hands digging into my skin as he began walking me out of the kitchen and down the hall.

I really wanted to go home. In my house, early morning sex was taken care of in the laundry room. I had lost count of the times I had been put over the washing machine.

He broke the kiss, panting for breath as I took my own gulp of air before recapturing his mouth. I sucked on his tongue as he staggered forward, carrying me, then stopped suddenly and shoved me hard into the wall.

“Where are our children?” he asked, whispering against my ear, nibbling on the lobe.

“Still … bed … early …” I trailed off, kissing up his throat to his chin and biting gently before trailing my mouth back down, sucking on his skin, moments away from leaving hickeys.

A frustrated sound, first a growl and then a huff of breath, before he levered off the wall and continued down the hall. “Where?”

“First door,” I directed him. “Lock it when⁠—”

“Yes.”

I smiled against his mouth. When we got there, he kicked the door closed behind him, and suddenly, his movements were fast, mauling and forceful.

After putting me on my feet, he pulled my T-shirt up over my head and off, then did the same to his, stretching back between his shoulder blades to grab it. I reached for him, gripping his chest, loving the feel of him.

My deep groan of appreciation brought violent motion. The back of my neck was in his iron grip as he spun me around and pushed me forward, my cheek pressed to the cold, solid wood of the door.

“Hands.”

Immediately, I put them over my head, palms flat. At the same time, I spread my legs.

He knotted his hand tightly in my hair, and the message that I was not to move was clear. I stayed still as he left me, heard the rattle of the drawer in the nightstand behind me and the break of the plastic seal.

We had been together so long; no matter where we were, where we stayed, things always found familiar places. He knew where to look for lube.

He pulled the drawstring of my sleep shorts loose, tugged them down, and slid them over my hips and off. When I felt his warm breath on my ass, my breath hitched because I knew what was coming. He bit me hard—he would leave an imprint of his teeth, but I didn’t care. The licking that followed, the sucking, was worth it.

If we had not been apart, if this were normal morning need, my cheeks would have been spread, and his tongue would have pushed inside my puckered hole. But I was being manhandled, would be pinned to the wall and hammered. I could barely wait.

Every muscle in the man’s big, hard body was tensed and ready to surge into motion and take me. And I wanted it. I wanted Sam Kage to simply ravish me.

The first lube-slicked finger slid inside me as his mouth closed on the back of my shoulder, where his name was tattooed and had been for years. I had had an artist trace his signature there, just Sam, and ink it. He never ever tired of seeing his name on my body. It was where his lips went every single time he took me from behind.

I pushed my ass out for him, and he moaned in appreciation before stroking and slapping it.

“So beautiful, so perfect and round and firm … like a heart … always amazing.”

“What?”

“You’re so small, and yet … you take all of me.”