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“Tell me you won’t take your eyes off me as you ride my cock, Polly,” Heath said.
My pussy clenched. “I won’t take my eyes off you,” I said.
His eyes darkened with a command.
“As I ride your cock…Marine,” I finished, the last word barely out of my mouth as he slammed me down.
Slammed me down on his cock and he filled me up.
Completely and utterly.
White clouded my vision and I cried out. I was primed and ready for him, of course. But the angle, the tightness of my pussy, my wild need for him had me almost blacking out.
Heath’s hands were tight on my hips, maybe to the point of pain, but I could not feel pain, not at this moment. Pleasure was the only thing in my system.
Heath was the only thing in my system.
I blinked away stars.
I focused my gaze on Heath, whose jaw was hard, veins protruding from his neck with the force he was keeping himself still. I placed my hands on my spot, on his chest. And then I moved. And then I rode him.
“Fuck, Sunshine,” he ground out as he yanked my head down, pressing our foreheads together.
I continued to move.
Continued to slam into him.
“My Polly,” he growled, his voice guttural.
My orgasm was about to take me over, snatch all my sense and words. “I was always your Polly,” I whispered, my voice fractured. “And I always will be.”
Then I shattered.
And I’d never felt so whole in six years.
* * *
I didn’t remember going to sleep.
I must’ve, since I was waking up.
And I must’ve gone to sleep with Heath inside me since the last thing I remembered was him growling his release into me, his mouth on mine. His eyes devouring me with a hunger and an intensity that I’d been certain was gone forever. That I’d been certain I’d killed inside him.
I’d been ready to carry that around with me for however long it took me to get over him. In other words, forever.
It was almost too good to be true to have it back. But then again, it’s not like things had been easy up until now. So maybe I needed to be like the old Polly, take the good without bracing, without believing the worst. Because when you believed the worst, the worst tended to happen. If you believed the best, better things came.
Law of Attraction and all that.
An ethos I lived by.
I stretched out like a cat, my muscles delightfully sore with evidence of just how much time was spent getting biblically reacquainted with each other. And getting reacquainted to this new roughness between us. To this new violence. Because Heath was right, there was no room for sweet between us anymore. And me, the hopeless romantic who read Nicholas Sparks books should’ve been disappointed with that. But there was no way in hell that I could be disappointed with what happened last night.
It turned out I didn’t want sweet. I liked sour. Bitter. Because that’s what it was. That’s what we were. But it tasted like ambrosia.
I was surprised I wasn’t using Heath as a pillow, surprised that his arms weren’t tight around me, as they had been in the short periods Heath wasn’t fucking me last night.
I was even more surprised that me stretching out didn’t encounter warm and hot naked and muscled flesh.
I was also very disappointed with this.
“Heath?” I called, my voice croaky with sleep. I creaked my eyes open to find an empty bed. The sheets were rumpled with the evidence of last night. His scent still clung to the cotton, mingled with the smell of sex.
My core pulsated with the pure memory of it.
Even though I was aching in every area in my body, I needed more than a memory. I needed Heath to show me that last night wasn’t a dream. That it wasn’t a one-off. Because it was more than sex. It was always more than sex with us.
That’s what started all the trouble.
All the pain.
I knew that the trouble and pain wasn’t over. It was never going to be over. Not with our history. Not with the things Heath knew and, more importantly, the things he didn’t know.
My heart clenched at one specific thing. The specific thing that had me fighting everything since my divorce.
I pushed it aside.
For the morning at least.
I sat up, the sheet falling with me to expose my naked skin to the morning light.
The curtains were open. As they had been all night. Because Heath knew that little detail that I didn’t like sleeping with curtains if I could help it. I liked looking upon the beauty of the universe in the night sky—what little I could see in L.A. anyway—and I liked the soft rays of the sun waking me up on the rare occasion I wasn’t awake already.
