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Not yet.
Not fucking yet.
And I know—I know—that whatever ugly, messy disaster happens next, I’ll never forget the way she moves to straddle me, her hair beautifully messy, falling in well-fucked tangles on both sides of her face and her blue-green eyes half-closed and dazed with pleasure.
“Here’s your chance to wow me, woman. Ride me as hard as you want, all the way home,” I whisper, crashing my hand against her ass.
It’s all the encouragement she needs.
Her mouth parts with surprise.
The pressure at the base of my balls builds like a brewing storm.
“Shepherd,” she whispers, bracing her hands against my chest and swaying, finding the perfect spot inside her, and fuck,fuckit feels so good.
I’m done for.
“Shepherd,” she gasps. “Shepherd!”
“Come for me, Destiny. Need to feel you first.”
She obeys magnificently.
And all I can see are stars.
She tosses her head back, biting down on her lip so she doesn’t belt her screams into the wild, and her body shudders with the raw force of her orgasm hitting like a hammer.
I feel the way she squeezes my cock, so tight my vision goes, and there’s no holding back.
Growling with delight, I release inside her, vaguely aware of birds launching from the trees as the whole universe becomes a mundane backdrop to our perfect wrong.
12
A Little Heartache (Destiny)
Ican’t believe it’s over.
Even though I guess that’s a grim exaggeration.
I still have my life, my work, and a half-grown puppy who always chases away the sad by licking my face. Molly noses in, coming in fast and furious until I need to push her away.
Yeah, nothing trulyimportantis over, I suppose.
Nothing meant to last.
Just enough to leave my heart hanging like a deflated balloon in my chest, heavy with bittersweet memories.
But that’s the thing about memories...
What happened wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things.
So what if I had the best time of my life with a man I’ll barely see again?
So what if we had gravity-defying sex at least eight times over two long days and he left me deliciously worn out?
Thank God for the private charter boat picking us up for the return trip, or else I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have made the kayak trip home with jelly for muscles.
Eight times.
