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“Sloan, listen to me?—”
“Why? You don’t have anything to say that I want to hear.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want to hear. You’re going to hear this.”
“Fine. I am at your service, sir.”
Ooh, I like that, but it probably isn’t the time to go down that tangent. “Sloan, you’re carrying my baby, which makes you my family. I will do anything, whatever it takes—and I can’t stress that hard enough—to make sure that you’re safe.Safe.”
From everyone but me.
“I don’t need protect?—”
She doesn’t get to finish because my instincts take over and I pull her against me. Hard, so that she can’t move to punch me, can’t do more than let me kiss her the way she needs to be kissed. She needs to know that she’s mine.
I press her into the refrigerator door, and my God, the little gasp of surprise she lets out is like nectar from heaven dropped right into my mouth.
She rakes her hands down my back and through my shirt. She doesn’t hold back, either. There will be marks; there will be scratches. I’m being claimed as much as I’m claiming.
Totally fine by me.
I pull her leg over my hip, grab a handful of her ass, and pull her tighter against my cock. Instead of doing it the patient way, mostly because she’s biting my lip enough it hurts, I yank her shirt over her head and pull her bra cup down so I can palm one of those perfect breasts, toy with her nipple, and pinch until she’s crying out and grinding against my cock through my pants.
“Take it out.” It’s not a demand; it’s a command—and she complies, her moves awkward and jerky as she frees my aching hard dick. “Pants, too.”
When she doesn’t move fast enough, I yank them down and spin her so that she’s facing the island. I nudge her so she’s bent over it, palms flat on the marble, and then I drive into her without any preamble. She reaches around to grab my ass through my jeans and hold on. I love the pressure of her fingers on my muscle while I ravage her neck with teeth and tongue and kisses.
She groans and grunts and whimpers. The sound is pure sex, pure sensuality. Her ass slams back into my hips—she’s as into it as I am. We’re both trying to break each other. We’re both succeeding. We’re both failing. This is pure rage sex and it’s so fucking hot I’m not going to be able last much longer.
Her throat is marked by my mouth, branded, and the thought makes me go harder. “This doesn’t change anything, Beck,” she pants between thrusts.
It does.
“And we’re not doing it again.”
Yes, we fucking are.
Her breath gets shorter and faster with every stroke. She’s so fucking wet and moaning every time my hips crash into hers. She’s close. I want to draw it out, but right now, claiming her is more important.
There will be other times to torture her with her own pleasure.
I ram deeper and harder untilboom, we hit the finish line. Her body clenches, milking my cock until I can’t hold back, either, and I come hard, burying myself to the hilt and staying there until there’s nothing left in me.
When I’m finished, I hold her in place. My forehead rests against the back of her scalp. I’m trying to telepathically communicate all the things I keep trying to make her understand. She’s fucking incredible and I will go to the ends of the earth to protect her. We both know she needs me. Even if she denies it.
She yanks away from me as she pulls her clothing into place. When she’s decent, she whirls around again. “We shouldn’t have done that. I’m not your property, Beck. Not some princessyou can lock in your fucking tower.”
“Sloan, you were kidnapped by a madman. I’m not going to take a fucking chance with your safety or the safety of my baby. How many times do I have to say that before you understand?”
She’s glaring, her eyes thin slits of hatred. God help me, I want to bend her over and rail her again. Fuck that look right off her face.
“We’ll see.”
“I guess we will.” But whereas she’s scowling, I’m smiling. I like the fight in her. I like the feistiness and the fire in her eyes.There’s something to be said for a woman with that kind of scrappy determination.
She stomps away toward the stairs, leaving the remains of her meal behind her. Before she goes up, she looks back at me. “This isn’t over, Beck.”
Then she vanishes. I smile until her bedroom door slams.
