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chest, and doubled her heartbeat. His touch went from easy to intense. His fingers dug into her ass as his his hips snapped up with every thrust.

She hung on because there was nothing else she could do. She curled her arms around his shoulders and sobbed out his name as his lips and teeth coasted over every bit of her that he could reach. Chest, nipple, ribs, neck—finally he climbed up the column of her throat and tangled his tongue with hers.

Her nails dug into his neck and shoulders as her insides split reformed around him in a way that would never be the same. He shuddered against her and jerked.

She felt him pulsing inside of her as she squeezed around his cock, breath lost to the insanity that was this man and how she reacted to him.

She slumped against him. Her heart rate was somewhere between heart attack and sprint. “Michael.”

“Michael’s died and his heaven is named Chloe. Please call back later.”

The giggle broke through and dissolved the tears that threatened. She shifted on him and a crack made her pause. Suddenly they both dropped down four inches and a spring shot up next to Michael’s thigh.

Her giggle became a hiccuping laugh as Michael struggled out of the couch with her in his arms. He stumbled forward and bumped into the small table, then they pinballed into the lockers. He slammed her into the wall of metal, his dick still half hard inside of her.

She gripped his sides with her knees as the laughter grew between them. “You broke the couch.”

“I do believe we broke the couch.”

She shook her head. “Your fault.”

He flexed his hips against her. “I have nail marks in my back that disprove that assessment.”

A fist pounded on the door. “What the fuck is going on in there?” The doorknob rattled. Lou’s voice rose. “Why is this locked?”

“Be right out,” she called out. Her head thudded against the locker and a lock dug into her back, but she wouldn’t stop the light pulsing of his hips for anything.

“Come again.”

“We have to go.”

“After you come again.” He ground against her, the light trail of hair at the top of his cock providing friction that she hadn’t quite been able to get while on top of him.

He sucked at her neck.

“Fuck.”

Michael pulled his head back. “Did you just swear? Why is that so hot?”

“I swear.” Almost never. Mommy training usually kicked in, but this wasn’t exactly her usual afternoon. She sucked in a breath as she climbed up another level. “How are you still hard?”

“Young and studly,” he said with a grunt. “And making you come is my Zen place.”

“Zen away,” she said and dug her ankles into his butt. Her cheeks heated with every rattle of the combination locks behind her, and she was pretty sure she was going to have a grid of welts, but it was so freaking worth it.

She shuddered out a litany of moans and iterations of his name until she finally melted away into a sweet, soft cloud of nothing.

“You’re so fucking hot, Mrs. Shawcross.”

She stiffened. Why did he have to insist on calling her that? She dropped her foot to the floor and he slowly lowered her the rest of the way. He slid out of her and turned away to take care of the condom.

She heard the rattle of paper and saw him open a fast food wrapper to completely hide the evidence before washing his hands.

Her chest tightened as she twisted her bra back to rights under her shirt. She snapped out her jeans, and quickly squeezed over the pocket to make sure her ring was still there. She looked up as Michael stared at her.

He grabbed her left hand. “Where’s your ring?”

“Safe.”

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