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Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yank his head backward and he groans, his eyes closing. His skin tastes sweet and my tongue lashes out, down his neck and across his collarbones.
“Baby, what has gotten into you?”
I grind against him again.
He grips my ass and twists, locking me underneath him. Without bothering with the button or zipper, he yanks my jeans off and kisses my stomach, moving south toward my pulsing sex. I lift my hips as he trails his tongue between my folds.
The pleasure is unbearable, and I buck into him, moaning, letting him wipe away the pain and sadness gripping my heart. He squeezes my hips, holding me down on the bed. The pressure builds so quickly that before I can stop him, I’m coming hard, screaming his name. He kisses the inside of my thigh, letting my body come down from the aftershocks.
“Blake, ple— “
He begins devouring me again, my desire building, barely over the last orgasm. I grab his hair, trying to pull him up my body, but he uses one hand to lock both my wrists, holding them against my stomach.
I whimper as another orgasm builds— his tongue relentless in its assault on my body. He hums in appreciation, his head bobbing steadily between my legs. My body arches, throwing my head back against the pillows, letting go. Losing all sense of place and time, I’m vaguely aware of Blake kneeling on the bed, shifting back and forth.
The last bit of darkness stirring inside me is gone, and I’m spent, sated and exhausted.
“I’m not done yet, baby. Get on your knees.”
His hands roam over my body, helping me into position. He enters me, quick and hard, and I call out a muffled version of his name into the pillow as he moans, stilling for a moment. This is what I need. Making love with Blake is heaven, pure bliss. But soft and gentle isn’t going to push back the pain of the events we’ve endured the last few weeks. The primal, carnal, almost painful sex he’s giving me right now is exactly what I want.
“Come on, Lily. One more time, baby,” he growls, thrusting into me so hard I see stars.
Everything aches, pulsing with the need for release. After this, I may sleep for a week.
God, damn he’s good. “Blake, I can’t,” I whimper, my body shaking.
I’ve never been afraid of an orgasm with him, but I’m pretty sure this one is going to rip me in half. My insides shake harder with each thrust of his hips.
“Yes, you can, baby. Come on,” he says through gritted teeth, swiveling his hips to hit my sweet spot.
He knows my body better than I do and within a few more seconds, I’m spiraling, my chest heaving as I try to breathe. He stills for a moment, finding his own release, growling my name as he reaches around and pulls me back against him into a sitting position. He stays inside me, my head lolled back onto his shoulder. His breathing is out of control, the air from it warm on my neck as he gently kisses my shoulder, trying to calm us both.
I fight to open my eyes, but they won’t. Kissing my temple, he shifts, and I wince as he pulls out of me, laying me on the bed. His steps echo into the bathroom, followed by the faucet pouring out water. Sleep yanks at the edges of my mind, tempting me to pass out.
Just as I start to dose, the bed shifts and he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. He nuzzles my neck, lacing his fingers with mine.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“Yes. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Okay. I love you.”
I twist my head, meeting his lips with mine. The kiss is sweet and gentle. His hand cups my cheek, his tongue massaging mine, slow and deep.
“I love you, too.”
He sighs, nestling behind me. For the first time in days, everything inside me is calm and I drift— the sound of his heart, music to my ears.
†††
Blake isn’t in bed, but voices echo from the kitchen. Sitting up, my lower body aches, protesting the movement. Sliding out of bed, the pain in my hips and privates stop me from taking any steps.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck did he do to me last night?
I practically waddle to the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and glance in the mirror. Doing a double-take, my eyes bore into the reflection of my hips. On both sides, there are bruises in the shape of Blake’s hands. Running my fingers over the deepening purple, a cry of pain escapes my throat.
Fuck that hurts.
