Page 88 of Missile Strike

The past rose to meet him. Bella’s desire-drugged eyes staring up at him, still innocent. Trusting.

“One last chance to tell me to stop,” he growled, now, like he had then. He was hanging on by a damn thread, and if she did tell him to stop, he’d have to drown himself in the shower with the water cranked all the way to arctic to recover.

Bella’s soft hands cupped his jaw. “I don’t want to stop.”

Same answer she’d given him thirteen years ago.

Thank fuck.

He gathered her hands and pinned them over her head, then thrust his hips. A groan tore from him as her tight, wet sheath protested his invasion. His thrusts were shallow, testing his control as he worked his way inside her, staying focused on her face for any sign he was hurting her.

“You feel so fucking good.”

He kept his gaze locked with hers as he seated himself fully, stopping long enough to let her body accommodate him. Those beautiful eyes were doing that thing again, the one where she seemed to see through to his soul. His chest tightened, and he slammed his lids shut, afraid she’d see the guilt, the regrets he still harbored.

How much of the messed-up teenage boy still lived in his head.

Nails scored the backs of his hands from where he held her in place. “Don’t think, Danny. Feel.”

He thrust his hips hard at her words.

Again. And again.

He could spend the rest of his life inside her. He set a steady pace, keeping his focus on her—every nuance of her expression. The flare in her eyes when he hit that spot that parted her lips in a moan. His balls drew up. Already he could feel her tighten around him, gripping his cock.

Not yet.

Not until he made her come again.

He bent over her, latching onto the tip of her breast, and hollowed out his cheeks. His fingers drifted down the side of her ribs and in between their bodies until he reached her clit. Stroking firmly, he swept her over the edge.

She gripped his hair, her voice hoarse as she screamed her pleasure. Her body fisted his in a vise that cannonballed him into his own orgasm. A few hard strokes, then blinding pleasure detonated behind his eyes.

In. Out.

His lungs dragged in desperately needed air.

Bracing on his forearms so he didn’t crush Bella, he waited for his body to level out and sanity to return.

She stared up at him, her eyes soft with an emotion that made his heart stutter before it raced even faster than it had been.

For one reckless moment, he let himself believe she could be his.

Not could be.

Already was.

His throat closed up.

He shifted to the side and brought her with him, keeping her tight in the circle of his arms, and brushed his lips over hers in a gentle caress.

“The night—” His voice gave out. He tried again. “The night of Jaynie’s funeral.”

Bella stiffened.

He didn’t move, needing their flesh-to-flesh contact to ground him. To keep her from withdrawing.

“I loved my sister but I hated how her illness took over every aspect of my family’s life.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I was the perfect son. The model student. Everyone’s fun friend because, at home, I was the child who didn’t need my parents the way Jaynie did.”