Page 73 of The Sugar Maple Inn

Grace had convinced herself she didn’t need this. Had spent years telling herself that sex was overrated anyway, that she had more important things to worry about.

Turned out, she’d been lying to herself.

Another inch and she was making sounds she didn’t recognize, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He was filling spaces inside her she’d forgotten existed. Not just physically, though, Christ, the physical was—

“Grace,” Reese groaned against her neck as he paused, his voice strained. “You feel so good.”

“If you stop now I will actually murder you,” she managed, and felt him laugh against her skin.

“Not stopping.” Another slow thrust, deeper still. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

When he was finally seated fully inside her, they both went still. Grace felt full and stretched and connected in a way that made her want to either cry or laugh or possibly both.

“Move,” she whispered, then added because she couldn’t help herself: “Unless you’re planning to just camp inside me all night like some kind of weird billionaire squatter—”

He moved. And Grace forgot how to be sassy altogether.

Twenty-Seven

Reese

Christ, the feel of her—hot and wet around him—nearly shattered his control right there.

Focus. Make it good for her.

He took his time, pushing inside her. Feeling every inch as her body adjusted to him, his eyes on hers all the time.

Fuck.

She was perfect. Hot enough to melt him. Reese forced himself to still, jaw clenched, every muscle straining. Giving her time.

But then she told him to go faster.

Reese almost smiled. Almost complied. But where was the fun in that?

He kept the same pace. Slow. Deep. Watching her face.

“Reese—”

“I heard you.”

Her hips rolled, trying to speed things up. Trying to take control.

Not happening.

Reese pinned her hips to the mattress with his hands. Held her still. Then sank into her again, deep, impossibly deep…and held there.

Grace gasped. Her eyes went wide.

“See?” His voice was gravel. “My way’s better.”

“Oh God, I—” He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in the same torturous pace, even deeper this time as she squirmed beneath him. Again and again, slow, deep, taking pleasure from the way her competitive streak was warring with the pleasure. He could see it in her face. The stubborn set of her jaw fighting against the way her body was responding, and it was making him so hard, he thought he might lose his damn mind.

“You can’t set the pace with me, Grace,” Reese whispered in her ear. “I won’t allow it.”

Grace glared at him. “We’ll see about that.” Then she deliberately clenched around him.

His control nearly shattered. “Fuck.”