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“Anne?”
“Yes,” she said, “I need you now.”
“But I don’t want to bruise you any more than you already are. You’re still healing.”
“You think I can feel anything other than you at this moment? Really?”
He closed his eyes reverently. And then his hand went between their bodies.
A hot, blunt brushing stroked up and down her core.
Do not stop yourself, a voice said in her head, one that was not her own.
No, she thought, she would not do that—
Grabbing his buttocks, she pulled his hips into her, and the penetration was so smooth, so deep, that they both cried out—and the communion was so right, so perfect, tears flooded her eyes. And that was before he started to move.
The pumping was slow at first. Steady. In and out, the advance and retreat making her feel full, but also frustrated because she wanted it harder, faster. There was wonder for her, too—at how this all seemed so inevitable, as if she were fulfilling a purpose that she had always had.
A love she had always known.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she said in his ear, “Harder. I need to feel all of you—”
Darius cursed and there was a hesitation. Then he seemed to unleash something within himself, his body becoming a piston, his passion overtaking them both until all she could do was hold on for dear life. Looking up at the ceiling, her head jerked back and forth on the pillow as the bed creaked and the headboard banged against the wall. He was an animal, he was wild… he was taking her, making her his own, dominating her—
The orgasm swept into her, her body going stiff as rhythmic pulses radiated out from her sex. And in response, he abruptly halted.
“Oh, fuck, I can feel you,” he panted. “Oh, God… Anne, I can feel you coming…”
* * *
Darius told himself it was happening too fast, too hard, that it was too wild and unhinged. But Anne was with him all the way, her nails scoring his healed back, her moans the stuff of fantasy, the scent of her arousal suffusing the room and getting into his blood—
And then there was the sensation of her sex milking his erection, trying to pull a release out of him.
He fought the impulse to let go, though, fought it with everything he had, until he gritted his teeth and his vision swam and he thought he was going to lose consciousness.
Except he needed to pleasure her more first—and he did.
Finally, at the last moment, just before he was going to orgasm himself, he pulled out of her, clapped his palms on her thighs, and dived down her body.
Fusing his lips onto her sex, he sucked on her, swallowed her, penetrated her with his tongue… kissed her core as deeply as he had her mouth. Her body was instantly racked with another orgasm, and another, and still he kept at it, eating her until she was writhing from side to side, shoving pillows off the bed, kicking her legs, throwing her arms.
And then he could wait no longer.
Rising up from her, he wiped the lower half of his face, then licked his way up his palm, not wanting to spare even a morsel of her.
“Anne…” he said in a guttural voice. “Look at me.”
Her lids lifted and her hazy eyes struggled to focus.
Moving her boneless legs up, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her swollen, glistening flesh. Then he palmed his arousal and propped his free hand on the mattress.
He stroked her sex with his head until he glistened as well.
Then he stared deeply into her eyes. And plunged into her.
His hips started pumping before he gave them any kind of command—and he lasted only four strokes before he started to orgasm.
Just as he began to ejaculate into her, he pulled out again.
And marked her as his own.
Orgasm after orgasm, he flooded her inner thighs and her sex with his essence, and when she was dripping from what he had left on her, he slid back into her core and started to fill her up. Beneath him, she stretched her arms overhead and held on to the iron posts of the bed frame, her dark hair tangled, her cheeks flushed, her mouth swollen in the best way. As he continued to go for it, her breasts jogged to the beat of his thrusts, the pink tips he had suckled on hypnotizing him. And her ribs pumped. And her lips opened farther.
She watched him the whole time. While he made her his in all the ways that really mattered.
It was the single best sexual experience of his life.
Little did he know… it was to be his last.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
This is the most incredible peanut butter and jelly sandwich I have ever had.”
As Darius made the pronouncement, Anne was inclined to agree with him. The pair of them were propped up in her bed, naked under the covers. Over on her bureau, her alarm clock suggested it was nine minutes after midnight, but that couldn’t be right, she thought.
